Crimson: The 10th Hunger Games
by paperairline
Summary: It has been ten years since the rebellion was squashed. Fresh blood still lingers in the minds of the people and the Capitol will go to any extent to make sure it stays that way. They will make sure these games won't soon be forgotten.
1. Prologue: The Caged Bird Sings

_Nina Esteves- Head Gamemaker_

* * *

Freedom.

What a strange word freedom was. It rolled off her tongue awkwardly, as if it were a foreign word in a language unknown. Her lips moved slowly when she said it, looking as if she was attempting desperately to figure out its meaning. Freedom was a word not normally found in her vocabulary. Just the whispering mention of the word made her ears perk and her entire body alert. The word brought back memories of the rebellion just ten years prior. Just the sheer mention of the word filled people's hearts with hope and added a subtle glint to their normally dull eyes. This glint is the same one that made the streets run red with crimson blood. Their blood. The people's blood.

And so it began that whenever said word was spoken, she pictured a wave of glittering red blood crashing down upon the people of Panem and sweeping them off their feet. They swirled about in the ocean of their own blood, thrashing and struggling until they eventually went under the raging red currents, not to be seen again. When the wave passed, all that was left in her mind were massive piles of limp corpses stacked on top of one another. Their dead eyes only stared back at her, glazed over and expressionless. There were thousands, possibly millions of dead bodies. There were twice as many expressionless and foggy eyes. There were so many, adding twenty-three more limp bodies and fourty-six dull, dead eyes didn't make a difference.

The Avox opened the door, snapping her out of her stupor. Brushing the hem of skirt skirt downwards, she took a tiny step forwards. She gulped. Although she knew what she was going into, she always was nervous to meet with President Heron. The old woman always made her anxious. One slip of her tongue and the president could turn her into a mute Avox- or worse. She could pay the ultimate price for a one simple word that accidentally escaped her two lips. Then she would just be another bloody corpse lost in the bloody piles. Despite this fear, she stepped into the room with a confident smile.

The first thing she noticed about the room were the birds. Along the blank grey walls of the room stood dozens of metal cages. Each cage held a small bird, no bigger then the size of her palm. They chirped loudly, as if they were welcoming her. At the middle of the room President Heron sat seated at her desk.

"Mrs. Esteves, how wonderful it is to see you," the president welcomed. She smiled wide, her pearly white teeth visible to the head gamemaker. The smile was most likely just for show and had no true emotion behind it.

"The pleasure is all mine," she said through an equally fake smile.

"Please, sit down, we have much to discuss," the president continued, folding her arms on her desk. Nina noticed they were skinny and skeleton-like. She shivered.

She walked towards the desk, taking a seat. She placed the papers she was carrying in front of her on the desk. They contained her best plans and ideas she had for the upcoming games.

The president parted her lips, her dull blue eyes fluttering to the piece of paper Nina just set on the desk. After a few moments, the president's eyes rested again on the head gamemaker. "I take the rebellion is fresh in your mind," she murmured softly.

"It is in everyone's," Nina responded quickly, diverting her eyes from the president's icy gaze. She shivered again. If President Heron was nothing else, she was most definitely chilling.

The president nodded her head slowly. "Precisely. It needs to stay that way. A new generation is rising, one that has not witnessed the pathetic rebellion and the immense power of the capitol. They have not seen what the capitol can do."

Nina flinched as a bird cawed loudly. "Worry no more. These games will showcase our power. The new generation will learn to respect and fear us. The blood will stay fresh in the people's minds."

Another bird squawked loudly, causing Nina to almost leap out of her seat in surprise. She glanced over at the bird, narrowing her green eyes in it's direction.

The president shifted in her seat, watching as Nina looked to the squawking bird. "I see you have taken notice to my birds. They are quite lovely, aren't they?"

"Very. May I ask why you have them in your office?"

The president blinked a few times at Nina. She sat in silence for a minute, her breathing growing quicker. She tapped her foot along the marble floor, the tapping sound echoing throughout the room. For a second Nina believed she was about to lose her tongue. Yet, the president eventually responded, her tone sharp like daggers.

"As a president, my people come before all else. The people of Panem are my life, my reason for existence. The birds remind me of the people. Notice how they flutter around in their cages, eager for the chance to stretch their wings and fly. Yet they cannot. They squeak, chirp, plead and beg for me to let them free, but I don't. It is more fun to watch them suffer."

Nina nodded her head, pretending to agree with the president's words. She turned back towards her, giving her a large, fake, toothy smile. They continued on with their meeting as if the last conversation had never happened. They conversed about the arena, and the mutts. They talked about sponsors and gamemakers. For the rest of the meeting, everything went as planned. Nina eventually stood from her seat and headed towards doorway. Before exiting, she stole one last glance at a birdcage beside the president's desk.

The bird was drowning in a sea of red.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! This is my first Hunger Games story, but don't worry! I've written in other genres too- so hopefully I won't go all awol on you. That being said, this is my first SYOT, and I'm super excited! Here is the forum for y'all to fill out. It is also on my profile. Please submit by PM unless you are a guest.**

 _ **Note: Tributes are not first come first served. It will pick the one I like most, so try to be detailed with your submissions! Three submissions per person is the limit. If you send more then three submissions in, I may not include the extras.**_

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Name:

Age:

Gender:

District: (a second choice too!)

Appearance:

Personality: (Try to be extensive here!)

History:

Family/Friends:

Strengths: (I like tributes with an equal # of strengths and weaknesses!)

Weaknesses:

Reaping: (Reaped or Volunteered?)

Reaction to Reaping:

Token: (optional)

Chariot Outfit: (optional)

Interview Outfit: (optional)

Strategy:

What do they focus on in Training and proposed training score:

Game strategy and proposed placement:

Allies?

Anything else:

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As always, thank you for reading. I love constructive criticism and would like to hear what you all have to say about the first chapter of the book. I am accepting tributes until the 19th of May.


	2. Prologue Part 2: The Caged Bird Dies

Prologue Part Two- The Caged Bird Dies

* * *

 _President Lucille Heron_

* * *

She ran her long and bony fingers through her perfectly brown hair. They scraped the top of her scalp and made her wince in pain slightly. Then, pausing abruptly, she noticed a small sliver of grey on the side of her head, just above her left ear. She went in for the kill, ripping out the strand of silver out with a forceful tug. The lock of hair fluttered down to the ground, landing on the marble floor without a sound. Her piercing blue gaze flickered downwards to the strand of hair curled about on the white marble floor. Smiling wide, she flattened the remaining hairs on her scalp. Everything was in order once more.

Backing away from the mirror, she headed to one of the dozens of bird cages around the room. As a young girl, she had possessed a strange fascination with the winged creatures. At the time she didn't quite know why, she guessed it was because the birds came in such a bright assortment of colors. Their feathers were beautiful and entrancing, which was why she believed gravitated towards them. Yet, she now knows the truth. Birds were free, and she was not. They possessed the ability fly away whenever they pleased, but she was confined to her life, unable to ever escape the invisible chains that bound her. She couldn't just flap her wings and magically be somewhere else, able to start anew. No, she was confined to her life, like a prisoner to their jail cell. It was her destiny, one that unlike a bird, she could not escape.

She bent down beside the metal bird cage and curiously eyed the bird inside. It was a cardinal, a pretty red bird with a bright orange beak and equally orange feet. It had two, beady black eyes, the color of the night sky.

"Sing for me bird," she commanded. She understood the bird could not comprehend what she was saying, but she did not care.

The bird cocked its head, its beady black eyes staring right into her icy blue ones. The two stared at each other for minutes, almost as if they were children playing a game. Finally, the bird tilted it's head in another direction. The president continued to stare at the bird for another moment as if nothing had happened.

When the bird failed to respond, she pursed her pale lips. _Was this bird defying her direct orders?_

"Sing for me," she commanded, a bit more vigorously this time around. She continued to stare right at the bird, her eyes piercing through its many feathers and thin skin. Her eyes stared right into it's soul. The bird still didn't sing her a song. In fact, it didn't even make a sound.

"Sing for me, you damned bird!" She howled, her voice echoing off the four placid, blank walls. Her screeches bounced around the room, colliding with the floor, the ceiling, the lights, the cages, her desk- everything. Finally, the scream reached her ears. It rung again and again, growing louder and more monstrous with every passing second. Then it stopped abruptly. The room returned to silence, and the bird still did not make a single chirping noise.

The president unlatched the cage door. She bent her hand inside, her bony fingers finding the bird's torso. They wrapped around its body, squeezing it tightly. The bird was pulled out of its caged home, its life almost literally in the shaking hands of the president. She felt the strong urge to wring its pathetic neck right there, but she restrained herself. Barely.

Presidents do not kill, they give the orders to. A piece of advice from her predecessor, her not-so-beloved father. Perhaps if he had not given her said advice, he'd still be breathing. Or perhaps someone would have done the deed for her. She'd never truly know.

"Avox!"

A scrawny young man pushed open the door, his face pale, his expression blank. His hands twitched with nervousness as he ran to her side. He dipped his head in a mute greeting to her. Once it was lifted, he looked up at her with wide eyes, waiting for her instructions.

"Take this bird," she forcefully told the mute boy. She didn't dare look him in the eye. A simple Avox, a betrayer of the glorious capital and powerful nation of Panem was not on the same level as she. She continued to stare ahead, her eyes fixed on some point far off in the blurry distance.

The boy held the bird in his hands. It flapped around and squawked loudly. The birds behind her seemed to echo its call, squawking and flapping their wings soon after the red bird did. The Avox bobbled the bird around in his hands, almost releasing his grip on it. He managed to hang onto it, his fingers wrapping tighter around its small body. Once the bird's movement ceased, he looked up at the president, his dark brown eyes still wide with fright.

"Do you know the price for treason, boy?" The president asked, her tone calm and collected. Still, her left ear twitched slightly.

The Avox gulped, shaking his head from side to side. He was young- probably in his late teens. He most likely had hazy memories of the revolts and the attempted revolution. He was too young to have truly witnessed the bloodshed and immense horror that followed the people of her generation around wherever they went. It was like an odor that no matter how many times one washed themselves, still lingered.

The president chuckled slightly. "Take this as a lesson then. Not following orders results in treason. Treason results in-"

The bird squawked loudly, interrupting her mid-sentence. Her left ear flicked again, a sign she was obviously annoyed. She opened her mouth, continuing on with the final word of her sentence.

"Death."

The Avox squeaked, taking a step away from the president. He shivered under his plain grey uniform.

The president snickered, her icy gaze flickering to the bird held in the Avox's small hands. "Wring that filthy thing's neck," she ordered the young boy. His face went white.

The boy's hands shook violently. He had never hurt a fly, and now the president demanded that he kill the bird fluttering about in his hands. His legs trembled and his knees buckled, yet he still managed the bring a hand to the bird's scarlet neck. It was the bird's life or his. Killing it was the price he had to pay for survival.

"Kill it!" The president screamed, aggravated that he was so unhurried to hurt the bird. She stepped toward the boy, threatening him to move quicker. She could see he was afraid, yet pity held no place in her heart of iron.

Silver tears began to roll down the boy's pale cheeks. They glistened in the late day sun, the light streaming in from the windows accenting them. He wrapped his shaking hand around the birds neck. Twisting it around, the bird let out one final screech, a plea for help. Then it went silent, its body limp, it's feathers falling flat to it's skin. He fell to his knees, utterly defeated.

The president grinned widely as the bird fell from the boy's hands and onto the marble floor. The remaining birds chirped loudly in their cages. It was almost as if they were mourning their fallen comrade, honoring his wasted life spent withering away in a suspended prison.

When the president lifted her head to look at the birds, the chattering abruptly ceased. All that was left was a silent white room, and a bird whose crimson blood was masked by it's feathers of red.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hi everyone, and thanks for sticking with my story! This is part two of the prologue, and there will be a third before I start the reapings! Thanks for reading, and if possible, review. I am still accepting tributes until the 19th of May.**


	3. Prologue Part 3: Like Cattle

A/N: Just a warning, this chapter I said written in first person present tense, which differs from the previous two chapters where the narrative was written in third person past! As this is the prologue, I am still trying things out and I hope it doesn't bother you too much.

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 _Prologue Part 3: Like Cattle Being Lead to the Slaughter_

* * *

 _Darius Foster- Avox, Capitol Servant_

* * *

Assumption was what caused me to lose my tongue.

A basic assumption, made by the bloodthirsty leaders of the Capitol. Without a shard of evidence, they blindly accused me of a crime I never committed. They sent me to have my tongue chopped off without even a measly trial. My word meant nothing to them, my pleads, my wails, my apologies all were worthless. To them, I was worthless. I was yet another pawn in their bloody game, a poor District Ten cattle breeder who had been convicted of supplying food to the rebels.

Before they sent me here against my will, I had a family. I had an ailing mother, who desperately needed my financial support to merely stay alive. My father was already long gone, killed during the revolution by a bomber. Peony, my wife, was always rushing from place to place- picking up our children from school, selling our eggs at the market, doing various tasks. She wouldn't have me to help her anymore. She'd be even more swamped with tasks, perhaps even overwhelmed. I had a pair of daughters with sparkling, curious eyes. I had a trio of sons who couldn't sit still for even a moment. My brother helped us out on the farm, always laughing, singing, and while drunk, swearing. Once I had everything I could have desired. Now I have nothing.

Sometimes my mind drifts back to the days before the revolution. I am sitting on the front porch with my family, the sun slinking behind the dozens of trees that dotted the horizon line. We are laughing. We all look elated, giant smiles plastered on our faces. There was no blood, no bombs. The foul stench of death hadn't poisoned our humble home. My tongue was still intact.

When I blink my dull eyes, I return to reality. Gone are my visions of the scarlet stained sky, my small house and my family. Now, I stand on the edge of a circular room. There is no color here, not like the kind I see in my visions and dreams. The walls are grey. My clothes are grey. The mood is grey, almost sullen. Gamemakers mull around, conversing about which horrible twist to add to this year's games.

"How about Trackerjackers?" I hear.

"No, no. Too basic. I think we need Mockingjays!" Another cheers, delighted with his twisted idea.

"How about a forest?" Someone asks.

"Ick. What is this? The Second Hunger Games?" A man in grey retorts.

"Then a desert? That was a big hit during the sixth games. The citizens absolutely adored watching the tributes burn to death under the sweltering artificial sun's rays," a confident woman inputs.

 _All horrific ideas. Why can't they just let us go in peace? We have suffered enough- the districts, the people. Why do they need to kill our children off as if they were cattle being lead to the slaughter? I have paid a hefty price for something I didn't even do- but these children, they are paying the ultimate price._

A hushed silence ripples across the room. All eyes turn towards the doorway, where a small, stout woman stands with her arms crossed over her chest. She obviously has a high status here, or the other gamemakers wouldn't have ceased chatting. She struts towards the center of the room with her chin held high. When she reaches the center platform, she gives the other gamemakers a smile and ushers them to their seats. It looks to me as if the woman in the center is the head gamemaker.

"My colleagues," she begins. Her confident aura seems to fade away as she speaks. A nervous twitch replaces her once confident posture, and her voice begins to quiver. I take it she's not the best speaker, but again, I shouldn't be the one to judge. At least she _can_ speak.

The head gamemaker clears her throat before continuing. "I have just spoken with the president."

I hear a few stifled gasps from the scores of gamemakers seated at their desks. They fiddle with their thumbs like nervous children who can't sit still. I find myself looking to my shifting feet at the mention of her name. Just the shear sounds of the president's name frightens everyone. It is almost as if uttering her name is a taboo, a sure sign that a bloody death will follow.

"Don't worry," the head gamemaker assures. "We spoke of all good things. She finds the plans we created for this year's games delightful. Everything is in order, the arena is beginning construction at this minute." Despite her assurance, she doesn't look too confident herself.

The gamemakers let out a collective sigh of relief, and I find myself joining them. Three years ago, before the seventh games, the president had all the gamemakers and executed because she though their ideas for the games were boring. In addition, she also had all the Avoxes assisting them executed. Good thing I was still working in her kitchen at the time, or I'd find myself not only without a tongue, but without a head.

The gamemaker lifts her hand to the air, snapping her fingers together. My gaze flickers to wall opposite in which I am standing. A large screen comes to life just in front of the wall. On the screen is a detailed map of the gamemaker's plans for the arena. From what I can see, the arena is large this year, larger than most of the previous ones. It is split up into fourteen sections, some large and some small. I squint my eyes in an attempt to get a better view of the details.

Instantly, I wish I hadn't bothered to get a better look. The fourteen sections of the map aren't just random terrains arranged in a completely random order. No, that would be too kind of the gamemakers. They need to make us suffer, and elongate the bleeding. The sections, or I should say districts, are titled one to thirteen. The lucky section without an assigned number holds the title of 'Capitol'. The districts all come together to form a large landmass, roughly resembling the grand nation that we all live in.

The arena this year is a miniature model of Panem.

Holograms begin to pop up in front of each of the gamemaker's desks. They range in what they depict. I scan my eyes across the room. There are model airplanes, bombs, shelters, ruined buildings. Diagrams of robotic soldiers march in place. Pixelated recreations of old flags wave aimlessly. The gamemakers begin to chuckle as they watch their creations on the screens.

All of a sudden, the pieces click together in my mind. The ten year anniversary, the miniature model of Panem, the marching soldiers, the planes, the bombs. My tanned face goes white and I place a hand to the wall behind me to steady my quivering body.

They are recreating the rebellion and there is nothing I can do to stop them.

It is moments like these that make me wonder if cutting out my tongue was a worse punishment then death.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked that First Person POV from Darius! Did you like this first person present better then the third person past? Please tell me which you liked better, as this story is all about your characters and I want you to be happy with the style of writing. Your choice will determine how the rest of the story plays out, and how your characters are written.**

 **I am still accepting tributes until the 19th of May. We are around halfway filled, so keep them coming! The forum and tributes submission list on on my bio, so feel free to check them out. As always, I appreciate reviews and constructive criticism. The next chapter will be written from the escorts POV's as they arrive in the districts, so get hyped! I know I am! After that, the reapings will begin and the tribute list will be revealed.**


	4. District 5 Intros: Statues

_District 5 Introductions: Statues_

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18._

* * *

He was taught to be a statue.

"Sit still Jaxs," his mother ordered constantly.

"Smile Jaxs, the people adore it." His father suggested rather forcefully.

"Good posture!" His tutor yelped at the top of her bird-like lungs.

"Shoulders back."

"Walk like you have a purpose."

"Comb your hair."

"Shake his hand."

"Don't speak."

"Hands at your side."

"Wave your hand."

"Don't misbehave."

So many commands, so many people barking orders at him. Yet, he took it all in stride, like he was brought up to do. Being the son of an influential politician in District Five, he wasn't allowed to do anything else. He had to smile and wave, as if nothing was wrong. He was forbidden to show any emotion. Even if someone called him a dirty word at school or he got a promotion at his job, he had to remain stoned-face. It was his duty to hide all his emotions underneath his thick skin.

Jaxs stared at his mother from across the dinner table. She sat at the head of the table, her arms placed perfectly in her lap. Her back pressed up against the backside of the pine chair. His chair was of the same material, a hearty wood imported from the vast forests of District Seven. The wooden chairs and tables were a luxury most other citizens of Five did not possess. It had been a gift from the capitol, a thank you to his father for helping put down the rebellion a mere ten years ago. He had also been granted a top spot in the government of District Five in reward for his efforts. Yet, Jaxs knew his father had no real power. It was all for show, a gimmick to satisfy the people of Five into believing they had some real say in the decisions made solely by the capitol. Even his father knew that. He still kept up the act, just as Jaxs kept up his.

His mother coughed into her arm, snapping Jaxs out his stupor. "Napkin on your lap," she managed to say through coughs.

Jaxs spotted the white napkin laying right next to his ceramic white bowl. He picked it up, the soft material rubbing up against his rough and rigid hands. The silverware sitting atop it clattered to the tabletop. It made a loud noise, startling his mother. She scowled at him.

"Jaxs!" She exclaimed, her brow furrowed. It was a bad habit of his to not take the silverware off the napkin before he set it on his lap.

"Sorry mother," he replied, setting the placid white napkin on his lap.

She shook her head back and forth in disappointment. "What did I tell you about saying sorry?"

"Saying sorry is a sign of weakness. You must say my bad instead. Saying my bad means you acknowledged your mistake and won't make the same one again," he recited from memory. He had heard it enough times to know it verbatim anyways.

His mother nodded her head mutely and returned to her ridged position in her chair.

Just then, his father walked into the room, a giant bowl of steaming vegetable soup cupped in his hands. He set it down on the table and retreated to his chair on the opposite side of the table. As soon as he sat, his mother reached for the bowl of soup and served herself. She passed it on to Jaxs, who took a little too much then he was allowed by his mother's standards. From the young age of six, his mother had been logging all the food he ate to ensure he would grow up to be the right size and proportion. A future politician couldn't be overweight or look like they hadn't eaten in days.

Jaxs began to eat his soup in little sips, just as his mother had instructed. Still, he ended up finishing before both his mother and father.

"Don't eat so fast!" His mother yelped as she glanced to his empty bowl. "If you were to eat that fast in public, everyone would think you were a pig!"

"And my son is definitely not a pig," Jaxs' father said as he went to take another spoonful of soup.

Jaxs glanced down towards his bowl, blinking a few times. It was empty, a few droplets of water clinging desperately to the sides. "May I be excused then?"

His father nodded his head, flicking his finger upwards to motion his son out of his chair.

"And may I ask where you are going?" Jaxs' mother demanded.

"Xander's place." Jaxs responded.

His mother rolled her leafy green eyes. "You are still friends with that hooligan?"

His father interfered. "Martha, th-"

"No, Westley! It's not enough! My son needs more regal friends, I can't deal with him hanging around with that scum. He is the son on an influential politician after all. He is an incredibly awful influence on Jaxs. We should make it a house rule that he is forbidden from seeing that boy again."

Jaxs possessed the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. His friend wasn't a hooligan, he was an amazing person. Xander was everything Jaxs aspired to be, friendly, popular, and free. Yet he knew better than to lash out.

"Fine, then I am going to go sit out on the porch and read. It is a civilized activity, after all. And it follows all house rules," Jaxs responded, his voice possessing no emotion. He didn't even sound enraged, or the least bit upset.

His mother smiled, shooing him away. Reading pleased her. It looked good for him to be scholarly, especially in the public eye. Little did she know Jaxs was throwing knives at a concrete wall behind their sparkling fake mansion because he couldn't keep his emotions bottled up inside any longer.

Statues do crack, after all.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14._

The camera zoomed in. It seemed to follow her every movement, her every step. It followed her right this very moment as she sat in her springy bed.

"Rise and shine girls. Work doesn't do itself!" An enthusiastic voice crackled over the loud speaker. The other eleven girls in the room stirred, their eyes blinking open and their sleep vanishing. Some grumbled and others groaned. They were all exhausted, as they were only allowed six hours of rest at the Training Center for Indigent Female Youth, or she liked to refer to it, the Louse House. A white light flickered on, signaling the girls to get dressed.

She, along with the eleven other girls, scrambled to the single rotting wooden dresser at the back corner of the room. The top drawer flew open to reveal twelve pairs of plain grey work clothes. The girls yelped and shoved as they all tried to get the cleanest one. Still, even the cleanest one reeked strongly of sweat and body odor.

"Get out of the way, skank!" Torent, the oldest girl in the house screeched at the top of her lungs. In addition to being the oldest, she was by far the tallest, standing at a high 5' 11". She towered over most of the younger girls and pushed them out of the way with ease. She always got the cleanest clothes.

Lux hung back slightly, watching as all the girls practically ripped each other to shreds over a simple piece of cloth. She chuckled slightly, amused at their squabbling. Getting hurt wasn't worth a clean shirt or pants that actually fit.

After they had all dispersed with their prizes in hand, Lux headed over to the dresser and peered in. A single pair of clothes remained sprawled out inside the drawer. She shrugged, slipping the shirt on over her head. It reeked of body odor and was littered with orange stains.

Once the girls were all dressed, they scrambled down the creaking stairs to the kitchen. Waiting on the dirtied table was a few slices of burned bread. Donated by the bakery, their meals mainly consisted of mess-ups and food that had long gone stale. Only on reaping day would they receive food that was edible.

It was the same show again. Lux watched at the girls scrabbled for meager crumbs of bread, stuffing as much as they could get into their mouths. Lux weaved through the crowd, heading over to Ester, a small girl with a large slice of bread in her hand.

"Remember our deal?" Lux asked, her blue eyes narrowing downwards at the tiny girl. Ester nodded her head mutely, her fingers wrapping around the piece of bread even tighter.

"But I'm hungry," Ester whined, clutching the bread tight to her chest. "Can't you just forget the deal for day? Please?"

Lux shook her head back and forth, extending her hand out in the direction of Ester. Ester reluctantly plopped the bread down in Lux's palm and stomped away. Lux didn't feel the least bad for the girl. Here, it was indeed survival of the fittest. Lux needed to play dirty in order to live another day. That including blackmailing her fellow housemates, including the meek Ester.

Lux stuffed the bread in her mouth before another girl could snatch it out of her hands. She swallowed it whole, not bothering to chew it. The taste wasn't very appealing anyways.

Lux hated it here, but she admitted life wouldn't be much better even with her parents. They had once been a wealthy family, the owners of a popular casino in the district. People from all over Panem came to gamble their money away. Some even hailed from the capitol, wanting to try their chance at luck. A few turned out to have "luck", while most retreated home with empty pockets. Most of the casino was rigged. Lux wasn't surprised though, as her parents never played fair. Again, neither did she.

"Please report down to the plant for work," the same voice crackled over the loud speaker. Like a flock of birds, the girls migrated towards the door and out into the blinding daylight. They made their way through the streets of the district and eventually to the power plant. There, Lux headed towards the maintenance closet and retreated a broom.

Work at the plant was same as always, mundane. Rarely anything happened that was out of the ordinary. Lux slaved the day away, wondering if anything eventful would happen. Nothing did.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello all! Thank you for reading, this is your first glimpse into some of the tributes lives. How did you like little Lux and Jaxs?**

 **Note: I am still accepting tributes, these were just two that I really liked and wanted to get a headstart on. I am particularly looking for males, but still feel free to submit females. Submissions close this Friday, May 19th!**

 **Note 2: I wrote this when I was sick with the flu, so it may have some errors and such. Constructive criticism is well appreciated. Oh and just because your submitted District 5 tribute wasn't written here doesn't mean they won't be in the story. They may appear in another district I think works better for them.**


	5. District 7 Intros: Grow Up

_District 7 Introductions: Grow Up_

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16._

* * *

The school bell rung, indicating the class had started.

"You got this Celeste. You are smart. You are, right? No, maybe you're not. Maybe you need to go back a year. Why are your parents even paying for your schooling anyways? You're dumb, Adelia is far smarter. Why did they keep you in school but not her? You know what, just forget it. You have been studying for weeks. This is a simple test, you just have to identify which plants are which. That was what the test was on, right? Oh no, did you study the wrong thing? No, you couldn't have. Shoot!" She mumbled rather loudly to herself.

The teacher, Mrs. Thorn, glided down the aisles, a stack of white papers held tightly in her wrinkled hands. She distributed one to each nervous student, who in turn took the test in their hands rapidly. Celeste was on the far left side of the room, meaning she was one of the last to receive the test. However, she was also the last to be required to hand it in.

Eventually, Mrs. Thorn arrived at her row. The old teacher limped down the aisle, her wrinkled face contorted into a grimace. Mrs. Thorn made it clear to all her students she despised the mere thought of teaching. She hated it with a fiery passion, and complained to her students about the trials of teaching on a daily basis. Though Mrs. Thorn never spoke of it, the school gossip was that she had fallen out of a tree when she was twenty and was never able to do taxing physical labor again. One of the only decent paying jobs left was teaching, and so she took it, not wanting to starve to death. Thirty-two years later, she still hadn't been able to find another job that paid better.

Mrs. Thorn paused in front of Celeste's wooden desk, twisting her face into an even larger frown. She bent downwards, arching her neck so she was looking Celeste dead in the eyes. "If your lips move even the slightest of an inch, your test gets ripped in half. No exceptions," she hissed into Celeste's ear.

Celeste nodded her head mutely, averting her eyes from the teacher's unwavering gaze. She held her breath, frightened that Mrs. Thorn might rip her test up then and there. The piece of paper flopped down on her desk. She gripped the wooden pencil tight in her hand and began to write. Only once she heard Mrs. Thorn's shoes clanking against the wooden floor did she dare breathe again.

The test started off simple. Pictures of flowers lined the first page, and to the left, a word bank. Directly next to the flowers was a blank line where the name of the flower was to be written. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep herself silent. Blinking her dark blue eyes at the paper a few times, she began to scribble words in the blank. _Poppy, aster, dahlia, peony, lily, larkspur, snapdragons, primrose, gardenia._

Celeste flipped the page over. Printed on the backside were a few questions. The first one asked which tree grew the tallest. _Sequoias._ The second she didn't know right away. It asked which plant was native to District Nine. Resisting the urge to talk to herself out loud, she began to think of possible solutions in her head. She didn't know. Travel between the districts had been suspended ever since the rebellion, and she had never even set foot in District Nine. She ended up scribbling the word wheat in the blank.

The next question was really difficult. She pondered it for a few moments, trying to figure out which color flowers budded from the American Yellowwood. Yellow seemed far too obvious, but no others colors came to mind. "Yellow it is," she muttered to herself.

She instantly realized her fatal mistake. Cupping her hand over her mouth quickly, she tried to stifle her murmur. Yet, it was too late, and thirty-four pairs of beady eyes all turned in her direction. Some reflected sympathy, others sparkled with curiosity over what her punishment would be. Robert, the boy sitting behind her held back a chuckle. He always liked to see a fellow classmate's test get ripped to shreds.

Mrs. Thorn rose from her seat with a groan. Her wooden shoes clattered against the ground as she made her way over to Celeste's desk. Once she arrived, she ripped the pencil out of Celeste's hand and threw it to the ground. Celeste gulped and held tighter to her test. Maybe Mrs. Thorn was feeling nice today?

"I warned you," Mrs. Thorn grumbled. Her voice was low and deep, almost like a grown man's. "And you still did it. Are you just forgetful, or plain stupid?"

"Forgetful, Miss," Celeste muttered as she glanced away. She never liked to look someone in the eye when she was in trouble. It always made her feel better that she didn't have to look her problems dead in the eyes.

Mrs. Thorn chuckled, ripping the test out of Celeste's hands. "Talking is rewarded a zero."

And with that, she heard the paper rip in half. The pieces fluttered to the ground silently, and the rest of the students returned their attention to their tests. She stared down at her folded hands and empty desk. If only she hadn't talked, maybe she still would be feverishly scribbling away. Or maybe she would have found another way to screw it up.

"Why do you always have to be so stupid, Celeste?"

* * *

 _Tristan Juniper, 12._

"Race you to Apple Rock!" Tristan chimed happily as he flung the front door open. It smacked against the wooden exterior of the house with a loud cracking noise. Stepping outside, the warm spring air ruffled Tristan's jet black hair slightly. Spring had always been his favorite seasons. He adored everything about it, the baby animals, the budding trees, and more importantly, the chance to be outside. He glanced over to his sister, who to his disappointment, didn't return the same wide smile he wore on his face.

Millie sighed, plopping herself down on the stump right in front of their house. "Aren't we a little too old to be racing?" She questioned, her voice sounding flatter than normal. Tristan narrowed his eyes at her, confused.

"But you love to race with me. Is it because I always beat you? I can run slower if you'd like! Or we don't have to go to Apple Rock, we can always go somewhere else. How about the market? Or the really tall tree that I climbed last year? Or the tree-cutting building?" Tristan exclaimed, basically bouncing up and down in excitement. All these options sounded so fun to him and he wanted to do them all.

Millie didn't respond right away. She crossed her arms over her chest, pondering all the options. "How about we go to work with Mom and Dad. I am thirteen after all, and most thirteen year olds are working. Maybe we should help them out."

Tristan gawked, his mouth hanging wide open. _Work? Who put that crazy idea in her head? They were kids, they needed to run and play. They had the rest of their lives to work. Why start now?_

Now it was Tristan who was silent. He blinked his dark brown eyes at his feet before responding. "But I thought you liked running," was all he managed to squeak out.

Millie threw up her hands as if she were just convicted of a crime. "I do, I do! Fine, if you really want, we can go running." She gave in.

Tristan giggled, nudging his sister's side playfully. "What are you waiting for then silly? Let's go!"

Millie sprang to her feet, a smile now visible on her face. She pretended to stretch as if she were a professional runner preparing to run a marathon. She bent downwards to touch the tips of her toes, then pulled her calves back so the balls of her feet graced the back of her thigh.

"Ready?" Tristan asked excitedly.

"Ready!" Millie responded loudly. Without even counting, Tristan took off in the direction of their destination, Apple Rock. The rock was a mammoth structure that Tristan and his sister had discovered a few years ago that took on the rounded shape of an apple. It was located a few miles from their wooden home, smack dab in the center of the woods. It was the sibling's meeting spot whenever they felt life was getting too hectic or stressful. It also was the ending point of many of their races.

Tristan pushed open the front gate of their yard with a shove. The small lock unlatched and the gate flew open. He hustled towards the road, his legs pumping fast against one another. A few feet behind him, his sister huffed, trying desperately to catch up. Despite being a fast runner, she never possessed the same boundless energy Tristan did. He always beat her in races more than a mile long.

"Come on, slowpoke!" He called over his shoulder. Glancing behind him, he spotted his sister huffing and puffing a few paces back. He slowed his pace slightly so she could catch up. Although she had denied it, a little doubt lingered in his mind that the reason she didn't want to race him was because he always outran her. Maybe if he let her win this time, she would be more likely to want to play with him again tomorrow.

Tristan turned onto the dirt path that lead deeper into the forest. He glanced ahead, blinking his dark eyes a few times in surprise. He and Millie weren't the only ones on the path like he had expected them to be. Dozens of lumberjacks padded along the road, their axes slung over their shoulders. They walked along at a sluggish pace. He wondered if they were just tired, or if they walked slowly because they dreaded work.

Tristan waved his hand at the workers as he sped past them. "Hi there!" He chirped wholeheartedly. The workers didn't even spare him a passing glance.

"Hi!" He repeated, desperate to get some sort of reaction. Again, no response. They just chugged along, their eyes still sunken and their backs still bent over with exhaustion. They were like machines programmed to do only one task, work.

Tristan frowned. _Why weren't they paying attention to him?_ When he was little, the workers used to wave happily at him as he skipped beside his parents on their commute to work. Now they didn't even notice him.

Tristan hadn't even noticed his pace slowed to almost a complete stop. His sister zipped past him. Letting out a triumphant squeal as she took the lead, Millie flailed her arms in the air happily. Yet, Tristan didn't even care. He knew his freedom was almost up, and that soon, he would become a mindless machine too.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi! As always, thank you for reading. How did you like Celeste and Tristan? How do they stack up against the District 5 tributes introduced last chapter? I'd love to know how you feel about the tributes so far, and who is your early favorite. Reviews really make my day, so thank you if you take the time to write one!**

 **I have made the decision to wave the deadline of the 19th. Although almost all the spots are filled, I am not satisfied enough with the submissions to close it completely on that date. However, if you are still planning to submit a tribute sooner is always better then later. The later you wait the less spots will be available.**

 **Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Ciao!**


	6. District 12 Intros: Queens and Peasants

_District Twelve Introductions: Queens and Peasants_

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15._

* * *

 _The warm sunlight cascades down from the sky and falls upon her poofy pink dress. She glances upwards, blinking her dark brown eyes. Unlike most of the residents of District Twelve, her eyes are not a murky grey hue. Her hair isn't as black as raven's wing, nor is her skin olive. Instead, her skin is pale and silky, lacking the minuscule flecks of coal that litter the skin of most seam dwellers. Her hair is a light brown shade with scattered blonde highlights. She is considered an anomaly among District Twelve. She is a needle in a haystack, a diamond in the rough._

 _"Arilli, your move," her uncle coos. Arilli blinks her eyes again as her attention returns to the table. She scans the board attentively, trying to figure out what his last move was. Upon spotting it, she grins widely. He fell for her trap. Although her knight is stolen, his king would soon have no place left to run._

 _She rubs her lips together. She moves her hand towards her queen and picks it up. From its sheltered position next to her king, it flies out into the open battlefield of the chess board. She places it right next to her uncle's rook and grins. One move away from winning._

 _"Your turn," she responds._

 _Her uncle nods his head and picks up his bishop. Mutely, he moves it across the board and places it on the same square as her queen. Arilli's eyes widen as her white queen is replaced with his black bishop._

 _She sits in stunned silence. She was so close to winning, just one move away. Yet, she let her guard down at the last moment. Arilli huffs in defeat._

 _"Don't let your desire to win blind you," her uncle says calmly. "You must stay aware at all times. Enemies lurk around every corner."_

 _Arilli shakes her head back and forth. "I know."_

 _Placing her hand on her king, she dips it downwards, signaling her defeat. She knows that without her queen, victory is near impossible. Plus, she doesn't want to hear any more of her uncle's chess lessons._

 _Her uncle immediately understands. He begins to pick up the chess pieces and pack them up into a little box. One after another, they all fall into the wooden crate with a loud clattering noise. She doesn't bother helping._

 _Once he is done, he folds the board up and places it in the box as well. Closing it, he looks up at his niece with the same brown eyes. They too are unique. "Perhaps we can go to the Hub and I'll buy you a nice toy. Maybe another doll or a train?" He suggests._

 _"Maybe," she responds quietly. She already possesses dozens of toys. Some hail from the Capitol, others from District Seven, most from her own district. Yet, she can always use more._

 _"I'll take that as a yes," her uncle claps. "We can walk since it is such a gorgeous day."_

 _Arilli nods her head, liking that idea. She has always been a fan of the outdoors, especially when it is warm as it is today. Her uncle starts down the porch steps and she follows after him._

 _The two walk along the dirt path, enjoying the nice weather. Birds chirp in the trees high above while minuscule bugs crawl in the dirt below their feet._

 _"Are you going back to the Capitol soon?" Arilli asks her uncle as they continue their walk._

 _Her uncle glances around warily. "Not for a while my dear Arilli," he responds rather quickly. His voice is sharp and tense._

 _"Why not?" She asks curiously._

 _"The rebels are virtually gone, and the anniversary of the rebellion's end is reaching its sixth year. There is no point in me going back. My job now is to stay and govern the people of District Twelve."_

 _Arilli sways back and forth as she listens. "Do I get to govern too?"_

 _Her uncle laughs, his shoulders slumping slightly. He seems looser now than before when they were conversing about the Capitol. "Maybe someday," he chuckles._

 _Arilli's small ears perk. She glances over to the side of the path where a green bush rustles. She knew it was probably just an animal, but still, something was a bit off._

 _Her uncle keeps walking, so she does too. Along the path, bushes continue to rustle. It is if something is stalking them, following them along on their journey to the Hub. Her uncle's piece of chess advice pops back into her head. "Enemies lurk around every corner," she repeats under her breath._

 _Her uncle turns his head, slightly startled. "Arilli, what did y-"_

 _"Death to the Capitol! The rebels still live! The rebellion isn't over, the rebels still live!" Multiple voices ring from the side of the path. Arilli shrieks as four bodies pop out of the bushes, their eyes all the same murky grey hue. In one of their hands sits a dusty brown bucket, filled with some kind of sloshing liquid._

 _She is frozen in place. Her legs have turned to stone, unable to move. Her mouth hangs wide open, her eyes glitter with pure terror. Her arms hang limp at her sides._

 _Never leave your queen unguarded. Never be blinded by winning. Enemies lurk around every corner._

 _A bright green liquid escapes the bucket and heads straight towards her face._

Her dark brown eyes jolted open. A loud scream flooded out of her mouth as she ripped off her wool blanket. Scrambling about in her bed, she desperately searched for her precious knife. Given to her after that fateful day three years prior, she never let it out of her sight. It was her prized possession, favored by her more than any expensive toy or dress ever was. Finally, she found it, and gripped it tightly.

It was the second night this week she had had the nightmare. Lifting her free hand to her face, she ran her smooth fingers along her scar. It stretched half her face, an unforgettable mark left by the rebels. She hated them more than anything. They had ruined her life and molded her into a paranoid freak who never left the safe darkness of her own room.

Placing the knife back on the wooden nightstand beside her bed, she stood to her feet. The cement floor felt cold beneath her toes, but she didn't mind it too much. She headed over to the door to check if it was locked like she had left it the night before. Sure enough, it was. She then padded over to the lone window of her room. It was covered by thick curtains which hadn't been pulled back for many years. They were coated with a thin layer of dust. Ever so slightly, she wiggled her bony hand between the curtains. Lowering her finger to the window latch, she verified it too was locked. She pulled her hand back with a slight smile. Everything was in order, and for now, she was safe.

Arilli headed over to the small table at the back left corner of her large room. Being the niece of a mayor with no children, she was practically raised like she was one of the mayor's own. She had everything she asked for, a large room, a comfortable bed and plenty of toys.

With a sigh, she sat herself down in a wooden chair beside the table. Even in the dark of the room, she could see the chess pieces scattered out along the table clearly. Everything was as she had left it, the pawns, the bishops, the rooks, the knights, the king, and the queen. Deciding to start a new game, she reset all the pieces to their starting position.

She enjoyed playing by herself. Ever since the acid incident, she didn't like people very much. The only person she actually allowed in her room was Layla, a girl Arilli had known since before her attack. The two had been best friends before, and maintained their friendship. Although Arilli knew Layla would do almost anything for her, getting up at two in the morning to play chess with her wasn't one of them.

So, she played by herself, pretending she was two different people. In the end, the black pieces won. They cornered the white king quickly. Yet, at least the king knew what was coming for him. The checkmate hadn't been a surprise. It had been known a few moves before that the white king was surely going to have to surrender. There was no one jumping out from thin air, surprising the king and turning him to stone. No pieces were lurking in the bushes, waiting for their chance to spring. No one threw acid at the king's face.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14._

"See that apple?" Ciaren, Cinder's best friend, asked. He pointed his long and bony fingers towards a wooden stand with a grey and white stripped top. On the stand sat a basket of bright red apples, their skins glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. They looked mouthwatering, and probably cost a small fortune. Cinder guessed they had been imported right from the blossoming orchards of District Eleven.

Cinder nodded his head, his grey eyes resting on the pretty basket. They were a normality for a seam dweller, a dark grey hue. They were the same color as storm clouds. His skin was a tanned olive and his hair was a dark brown, basically black. Dimples appeared on his face as he smiled at the apples.

"Everyone can see it! They are basically sparkling!" Cinder exclaimed happily.

Ciaren chuckled, placing a finger over his mouth. "Keep quiet, or you'll look suspicious."

Gulping, Cinder averted his eyes from the basket of gorgeous apples. He glanced around the bustling market place, his eyes darting from person to person. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't like it.

His best friend grabbed his bony wrist, pulling him closer. Ciaren leaned over, his pale lips only inches away from Cinder's ear. "Wouldn't those apples taste so good? Imagine biting into their hard skin, sugary juice flooding into your mouth. Can't you just hear them crunching as you chew them slowly? Your stomach wouldn't rumble for hours after eating it," he whispered into Cinder's ear.

Cinder sighed dreamily. He agreed those apples would taste heavenly. If he had the money, he would buy one for his brother, his mother, his father and himself. They would all smile as they bit into the juicy fruit. The ends of his lips curled into a large smile.

"Do you want one?" Ciaren questioned, cutting into Cinder's thoughts.

Cinder laughed. "You bet I do!"

Ciaren nodded his head, knowing he had Cinder right where he wanted him. "Then go get one, silly!" Ciaren exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. He released his grip from Cinder's wrist and stepped away from him.

Cinder stepped towards the stand, compelled by his desire. Then, a few steps into his walk, he stopped abruptly, realizing the magnitude of what he was about to do. _Was he really going to steal these apples? What if the family that was selling them was depending on this money for their dinner tonight? What if they had kids, just as his parents did, whose lives depended on their income?_

He lifted his hand to his mouth and began to bite his fingers nervously. If he didn't steal the apples, Ciaren would be angry with him, but if he did, he would be robbing a family of a dinner. He was torn.

Cinder glanced back over his shoulder. Ciaren waved at him, giving him an assuring smile. Cinder began to move his hands, signing to Ciaren that he was waiting for a good time to run up and grab the apples. Ciaren tilted his head to the side, confused.

"You know I don't know what your weird hand motions mean!" Ciaren called to him. His voice battled with the loud chattering of people in the marketplace, but it won over. Cinder chuckled, remembering he was with his friend, and not his family. With his family, using sign language was required, since his father was deaf. When he was with Ciaren, he needed to speak. His friend had no idea what anything actually meant in sign language.

Turning back towards the stand, Cinder fixed his eyes back on the red apples. They looked majestic, a stark contrast to the plain grey of everything else. He walked towards them again, his hands beginning to shake nervously. He had made up his mind, he was going to steal the apple. He knew his friend was an orphan, and needed the apple as much as the family needed the money from selling it. Plus, most of the district was far too poor to afford it. He was sure they wouldn't sell all of them always. They wouldn't miss just one apple.

Then, when he saw the merchant at the stand turn away, he began to walk faster. Soon he was in an all-out sprint, his old boots pumping hard against the dusty earth littered with flecks of coal. When he was less foot away from the stand, he outstretched his arm and wrapped his fingers around one of the apples. Yet, before he could pull away, a strong hand grabbed his wrist.

"You thieving little rat!" A feminine voice shrieked as the hand tightened its grip on his wrist. Cinder glanced straight ahead, surprised to see a very familiar face.

"Milana?" He gawked, his mouth hanging wide open. She was the last person he expected to see.

Milana gasped, her blue eyes widening. Apparently, he was also the last person she expected to be stealing from her. She quickly released her strong grip on his arm. "Cinder?"

Cinder stuttered, not knowing what to say. He hadn't expected to know the merchant, let alone be friends with her. He released the red apple and staggered away from the stand. The two stood in silence for a minute before Cinder opened his mouth to speak.

"That apple just looked so good," he muttered.

Milana's shock was instantly replaced by anger. "I bet it did! What if it wasn't me Cinder? What if it was Canary you were stealing from? He would have cut your little fingers off one at a time or reported you to the peacekeeper right away! You are insane! What even compelled you to do this? Your brother works at the mines so he can keep you out of trouble! He works so you don't have to steal!" She shouted, her voice growing louder with each passing second.

Cinder shrugged his shoulders, glancing back to Ciaren. To his dismay, Ciaren was nowhere to be found. Cinder assumed he had taken off the moment he saw Milana grab his hand.

"What? Did you have an accomplice? I bet it was Ciaren, that little brat! He is always drooling all over my food," Milana continued, still enraged. Her face was scrunched up into an angry grimace.

Cinder laughed, shaking his head side to side. "You look funny when you are mad," he responded, trying to lighten the mood. "And Ciaren isn't a little brat, he's my friend."

Milana sighed, her tense shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fine, fine. Ciaren is friendly, I will admit. I just don't want him taking advantage of you. You can't steal for him just because he was impulsive and wanted a little snack."

"Fine, I won't. Can I still have apple though?"

Milana rolled her sea blue eyes, reaching her hand into the basket. She surfaced with a bright red apple, the size of a fist. It had a small bruise on it, but Cinder didn't mind.

"Keep this one for yourself, okay?" Milana handed him the apple.

"Okay," he lied, taking the shiny red apple in his hands.

He was still giving it to Ciaren.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for reading. How did you like Arilli and Cinder? I think they are pretty unique for District Twelve tributes, especially Arilli. But what do you think of them? Do you think they will go far?**

 **Exciting News! Due to a large number of people submitting outer district males in a short period of time, the tribute list is complete! I have posted it on my Bio! Thank you to everyone who submitted, and I'm really sorry if your tribute did not get selected. It is nothing against them or you, but the spot may have been very competitive. I got around 30 submissions in all, and I would have loved to take all of them, but sadly cannot.**

 **Also, some tributes have been moved to another district. I believe I have PMed most of the people whose tributes I moved, but if I have not, and you have any questions, feel free to PM me.**

 **Bye for now! Constructive criticism and reviews are always loved!**


	7. District 2 Intros: Invisible

_District Two Introductions: Invisible_

* * *

 _Lena Evangelos, 18._

* * *

People once called her pretty. Back then her chestnut brown hair was long and wavy. It bounced up and down as she skipped happily from place to place. Her leafy green eyes sparkled with excitement and wonder. Her skin was tanned to perfection, as if it were kissed by the sun's rays. She had a pair of small, dainty feet and smooth, silky hands. She kept up with the fashion of the year and painted her nails to accent whatever outfit she was wearing that day. She always put on layers of makeup- bright pink lip gloss, rosy blush, and dark mascara. Her teeth were pearly and white. Sometimes she even smiled. When Lena looked into the mirror, she saw beauty- she saw joy.

Now all she saw was sorrow.

The girl trapped behind the glass stared back at Lena with dull, sunken eyes. Dark bags sagged beneath them, showing her wear. Although she had only aged eighteen years, she looked far older. Her hair was mangled and messy- it hadn't been brushed in weeks. At the base of her arms were two calloused hands, swollen and scarred from her rigorous training. Her feet were large and bumpy. The girl's skin was pale and coated with a thick layer of brown dirt. She didn't remember the last time she had taken a proper shower.

Then, the girl behind the glass began to bang hard against it with her large fists. The glass began to crack along the edges of the mirror. Within a few seconds, it shattered into a million pieces. The glass flew everywhere, onto the bed, the floor, her dresser. Some flew towards Lena, piercing her dirty skin and making it run red. Lena slumped to the ground, defeated. The girl behind the glass was free from her reflective prison. The girl outside was not.

The door to the room flung open. "Lena!" A high pitched voice squealed. Lena lifted her head, glancing over towards the doorway. There stood her twelve year old brother Cain, his brown eyes wide with fright. His mouth hung open as he stared at the entire scene.

Lena returned her gaze to the glass littered floor. "I- I- don't know what happened," she stuttered quietly.

"Me neither," her brother mumbled. All he could do was blink his wide eyes. He knew something was wrong, yet he didn't know what.

A pair of footsteps hurried up the stairs. Soon another body loomed in the doorway, this one bigger than her brother's. _Her mother._ Lena groaned.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Lena's mother roared. She marched into the room, ignoring the pieces of glass that stuck to the bottom of her black boots. With a forceful tug, she grabbed Lena's bony arm and pulled her to her feet. She then grasped Lena's chin and jerked her head around so the two were directly facing each other. Lena attempted desperately to avoid her mother's piercing green gaze, yet she found herself staring right into her mother's angry eyes.

"Your father bought that beautiful mirror for your birthday! And what do you do? Go around and smash it into a million pieces! This better be a goddamn accident or the mirror won't be the only thing that is broken!" She screamed.

Lena blinked her eyes a few times, not bothering to respond. The two already knew the truth. She had smashed it like she had smashed the last one. And the one before that. Ever since Quartz had died, she had been smashing them. She couldn't bear to look at the ruined girl she had become.

Her mother grumbled, her gaze flickering down to Lena's left arm. Pieces of glass littered her skin, each surrounded by a gushing crimson rim. Lena's mother pinched her fingers together and tugged out a large clear piece. Lena winced in pain, yet she knew that she deserved it. _She shouldn't have let Quartz go to the games. She shouldn't have let Quartz be stabbed in her sleep, betrayed by one of her own allies. It was all her fault Quartz was gone. Pain was there to remind her of that fact._

Her mother continued to pluck pieces of glass out of her skin. "You can't go to training like this. The instructors will think you murdered someone. Then they won't pick you to be reaped on Friday."

"What if I don't want to be picked?" Lena asked defiantly.

Her mother chuckled softly, going back to her work on Lena's arm. "You think I care if you want to or not? This isn't some little school game Lena. You don't chose if you want to play or sit out. This is bigger than you, then any of us. If you win, the Capitol will bathe us in riches. No more work, no more being looked down as rebels. Our history will be forgotten in a blink of an eye. This is a game concerning life and death, Lena. You don't have a choice."

Lena huffed, pulling her arm away. She didn't want to hear any more of her mother's obnoxious lecturing. Of course she had a choice. People always had a choice.

"Plus, didn't you say you wanted to avenge that friend of yours? Something about her being stabbed by a bunch of District One hooligans. What was her name again? Oh yes, Quinn!" Her mother said happily, as if her friend dying was a thing to celebrate.

Lena closed her eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Quartz," she gritted through clenched teeth. "Her name was Quartz."

"Quinn, Quartz, same thing. I always was very fond of that girl. She was so driven to bring honor to her family. Much more driven then yourself. Too bad she died," her mother chimed.

Lena stomped her foot on the ground, done with the conversation. Without another word, she turned to leave the room. As she walked, she kicked up small shards of clear glass, hoping that one would hit her mother's eye. Maybe then she would see clearly.

"Lena, wait!" Her mother called after her. "Wash up before training. You can't go in looking like a crushed tomato! They will never pick you then!"

Lena rolled her eyes, brushing past her brother who was still standing in the doorway. She stuck her elbow out, hoping to hit him square in the chest. She missed her target slightly, her elbow hitting his left arm with a loud crack. He wailed and quickly clutched the spot where she had hit him. She was furious, and she wanted everyone in the room to know.

Her mother gasped, quickly coming to Cain's aide. "Honey, are you alright? Where does it hurt? Does t-"

Lena slammed the door loudly, interrupting her mother's coos. She was finished with her overbearing mother, her idiotic brother and father who was never home. She was finished with the condolences from others about her deceased friend. Their apologies couldn't bring Quartz back.

Revenge was the only thing that could.

Once Lena sunk a dagger into the both the District One tributes' hearts, she would be free. There would be no more regrets, no more what ifs. The girl behind the glass would be free from the invisible chains that clung to her so tightly.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18._

He plopped himself down on the faded couch. Covered with specks of dirt and dollies to hide its many stains, it had seen better days. He perched his feet up on the splintering wooden table. The table creaked as his feet banged against its topside. With a loud sigh, he reclined back and folded his lengthy arms over his chest. He yawned with exhaustion. His first day at the quarry hadn't treated him well and he found himself succumbing to the sleep that enveloped him.

When his piercing grey eyes snapped open again, light no longer flooded though the dirtied windows of his home. Outside his house was darker then in, the only thing bright was the moon and the few stars that glittered high above his little world. All of District Two wasn't the sparkling fantasy district that the Capitol had built it up to be. Not all of the houses were large; not all of the people were loyal. The ones who weren't were stuck in the rubble of the war, just as he was. The only problem was that his father still believed the Capitol cared about them. He believed they loved him. Yet, the empty promises didn't blind Alaric's clear vision. He could pick apart the truth from the lies, a skill many lacked. He saw the world clearly. Like a spectator on the sidelines, he saw everything. Yet, like a spectator, he never took part in the fun.

"Alaric!" His father's voice echoed off the walls of their small house. A shadowy silhouette appeared in the doorway. Dangling from the shadow's arms were various luggage bags. Alaric sighed, understanding what was about to happen. His father was going back to the Capitol for a few weeks. He was going to try to sell the stone from the mines, but like the dozens of times before, he would come back empty handed. Weeks later, they would still be stuck in this rut of a house. He could predict what was going to happen with ease. If only his father could learn from his mistakes and predict too.

Alaric didn't move from his position on the couch. "Hey dad," he mumbled quietly. "Going back to the Capitol?"

His father chuckled, stepping out of the doorway. "How did you guess?" He questioned as he dropped his bags to the floor.

Alaric returned the laugh, lifting his head to face his father. "A lucky guess," he chittered. "Plus, I can see your bags from a mile away. Where else would you be going, District 11?"

His father shook his head from side to side, flicking on the light. The small lamp buzzed to life, illuminating the small and cramped room. Alaric blinked his eyes a few times as they adjusted to the bright light.

"Right, right. Always with such a good sense of humor. Now, I'll be back in a few weeks, so look after Locus for me. I don't want him hanging out with the Stones again. They are always such a bad influence on your brother. And remember to turn on the light, I don't like it when you walk around in the dark. Last time you broke the vase your mother bought when she was still alive," his father ordered.

Alaric nodded his head in response. "Sure. Turn on the light, watch Locus like a hawk, no breaking precious vases. Is there anything else I should do, master?"

His father rolled his dark brown eyes, bending down to pick up his various sized bags. He began to shuffle towards the door, the bags banging on various furniture items as he walked. "How funny," his father responded dryly.

Alaric lifted his hand into the air weakly, waving goodbye to his father. In the bright light of the lamp, his pale skin looked almost translucent, ghost-like. "Bye then," he piped.

"Bye Alaric. Maybe next time I'll come back a few coins richer!" His father chorused as he opened the wooden door. He squeezed through the narrow doorframe, barely getting through with his bags. Then, the door shut behind him, and the house was silent once more.

"Maybe," Alaric muttered to himself. It didn't take a fool to know his father wouldn't return a richer man. Even his simple brother could figure that out.

Footsteps could be heard in the adjacent room. _His simple brother._ Alaric's ears perked, and he sat up straight in his seat. Within a few seconds, Locus had entered the room, looking about warily. Alaric noticed he was a bit on edge and his arm was fidgeting anxiously.

"Something up, brother?" Alaric asked, raising an eyebrow. His brother's head twisted halfway round, and he blinked his green eyes a few times. He shook his head back and forth quickly. Too quickly.

His brother smiled nervously. "Uh- no! Everything is fine. Grand even! Is dad gone yet?" Locus asked, glancing about the room for any sign of his father.

"Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Why do you ask?" Alaric questioned. Yet he didn't even need to ask, he already knew why. Whenever his brother nervously twitched like that, it could only mean one thing.

Locus's shoulders relaxed slightly. He made his way towards the door, cracking it open ever so slightly. "No reason. I'm going out. I'll be back at dawn, kay?"

Alaric chuckled, bringing himself to a standing position. Cracking his knuckles, he made his way over to the door. When he arrived, he bent his head downwards to face his brother directly. At 6'2", he loomed over most, including his sixteen year old baby brother. Locus's hands began to twitch nervously again.

"It's not kay'," Alaric responded, his tone mocking his brother's slightly. "Tell me where you are going."

His brother narrowed his dark green eyes, challenging Alaric. "I told you, out."

Alaric raised his left hand into the air, giving his brother a flick on the nose. "Out where?"

"Somewhere!"

"You know I hate when you keep secrets, Locus. If you tell me I might let you go." Yet, Alaric already knew that last sentence was a lie. He already knew where his brother was going, and under no circumstances was he letting him go. Even if Locus told him the truth.

"I already told you, I'm going somewhere!"

And with that, Locus swung open the door violently. It smacked against the wall with a loud crack. Locus rushed out, barely evading Alaric's attempt to grab his shirt. He disappeared into the darkness of the night, enveloped by the sea of black.

Alaric huffed, his shoulders slumping. He knew he couldn't catch his speedy brother even if he tried. Defeated, he closed the old door and returned to his sedentary spot on the faded and dusty couch.

Ghosts saw everything, yet they controlled nothing. He was invisible to everyone, his brother, his father, and his few friends.

Sometimes it felt like he wasn't there at all.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait, I wrote this chapter originally on Tuesday but after looking at it again the next day, I decided I didn't like Alaric's scene. I rewrote it today and viola! Here is your first set of Careers, Lena and Alaric. How do you like them so far? Do you think they are strong competitors, or nah? I know the career volunteering to avenge a dead friend or family member is pretty common, but I'm going to try my best to put a little spin on it. Lena is a pretty interesting tribute, and I think there is more to her then just her motivation to win the games because of Quartz's death. But you all have your own opinions.**

 **Oh, and something about the careers and worldbuilding! The entire volunteering troupe started in the 8th games. Henna Wentworth, a girl who was previously from District Two, won the Seventh Hunger Games. Some of the poorer families in District Two saw how she was bathed in riches and her rebel past almost completely forgotten by the capitol once she won. They decided that if their children won the games, the same would be true for them. They opened up academies to train their daughters and sons so they would be prepared for the games. And the careers were born.**

 **The Capitol loved these trained tributes. District One, previously the most favored by the Capitol, was put in the backseat for District Two. Wanting to maintain their 'favorite' status, they began to open academies and train tributes as well.**

 **I sound like a broken record, but constructive criticism is always welcomed with full arms. I have been getting so many positive reviews, and I thank you all for that! Keep them coming!**

 **Until next time,**

 **paper :)**


	8. District 9 Intros: Morals

_District Nine Introductions: Morals_

* * *

 _Abrielle Mariani, 15._

* * *

The sky is still stained black when Abrielle woke from her slumber. She rolled over in her small bed, grabbing a match from the wooden nightstand beside her desk. With the swipe of her hand, the fiery match came to life. It flickered wildly in the dark, a bright flame among a sea of black. The light from the match created long shadows across the room.

With her opposite hand, she grabbed a waxy candle sitting on the nightstand and lowered the match to it's wick. Yet, before the fire could catch, a gust of wind blew through the room. The match died as quickly as it had come to life. It's life was short, yet vibrant and bright. The room returned to utter darkness.

Abrielle huffed, blinking her dark brown eyes a few times before trying again. She struck another match and the room came to life once more. That time she succeeded in lighting the candle. The wax began to roll down the sides, pooling at the bottom of the wick.

She glanced around the dim room, her eyes flickering from place to place. After a few moments, they finally rested on a lone light bulb hanging from the wooden ceiling. It was a relic from before rebellion; an artifact from a time when District Nine was still supplied with constant power. These days her family was lucky if they got a minute of the precious electricity.

Sighing, she extended her arm into the air in the direction of the light bulb. Her bony fingers stretched as far as they could manage, attempting desperately to reach the glass bulb. They fell short a few feet, stranded in mid-air.

She yawned. Before the rebellion, the light bulb had use. It provided light to the entire room at the flick of a miniature switch. It allowed people to work after the sun had set and stay up until the moon was high in the starry sky. Now it seemed it was only there to taunt her family and make them regret what they had done ten years prior. The Capitol dangled it in front of their faces, as if they were hungry dogs and the bulb a meaty bone. It was always there, inches from their fingertips. It was always just out of reach. If only they could touch it, taste it; then maybe they wouldn't starve to death like thousands of dogs before them.

Yet, the dangling light possessed a purpose. It was strategically placed there to make her want to return to a time when life in District Nine was better, before the districts revolted against the capitol. However, she couldn't go back. Time kept rolling forwards whether she wanted it to or not.

Abrielle's feet collided with the wooden floor and sent a chill up her spine. Along with electricity, heat was a thing her family could only dream of having in their own home.

She stood to her feet and made her way over to the wooden easel in the corner of the room. On it sat an unfinished painting of her friend Brandin. The subject of most of her drawings and paintings, one could say she had a slight obsession with him. A _slight_ obsession. She giggled at the use of slight, thinking a better word for it was probably massive. To Abrielle, Brandin was more than just a friend. He was her sun, her moon, her stars. He was her everything. But to Brandin, she was his nothing. He only saw her as an annoying little friend who stuttered when she spoke to him and couldn't keep her wandering eyes away.

Outside Abrielle's window, the sky had faded to a dark shade of purple. A few streaks of crimson dotted the sky, a slight contrast to the main plum shade. She picked up a brush, twirling it around in her hands for a few moments. It felt so natural in her hand, almost as if it were an extension of her own body. Abrielle dipped the paintbrush into the can of white paint and then into the can of red. Mixing them together, she created a rosy shade of pink perfect for Brandin's lips. Abrielle sighed dreamily, now imagining her peach colored lips on his. She lightly touched her brush to the paper and began to do what she did best. Paint.

Around her, her old house creaked. The splintering wooden floorboards beneath her feet pleaded desperately for someone to repair them. Mice scurried around in the crumbling walls with faded wallpaper peeling off of their sides. The fireplace roared downstairs, signaling that someone, probably her mother, was also awake. The wind whistled outside, entering the house through drafts in the thatched roof a few feet above her head. Despite all this, she continued to paint. The paper in front of her began to fill with various colors and shapes. They all came together to form a beautiful of image of Brandin. In that moment, nothing else mattered to her except the paper and the brush.

"Abrielle, you better be awake by the time I get my old legs up those stairs, or so help me God you are going to get it!" A masculine voice hollered, interrupting her concentration.

 _Shoot!_ Abrielle jumped in place, startled. Glancing out the window, she noticed a long period of time had passed since he had begun painting. Minutes, possibly an entire hour had gone by since the second she had picked up the bristly brush. She rushed over to her wooden dresser and pulled out the first piece of clothing in the top drawer. Abrielle studied it in the dim light. In her hands sat a white t-shirt with more than a dozen stains. She decided it was suitable enough for now. Throwing it on over her head, she bent down to take a faded pair of jeans from the bottom drawer. They were tattered and old, but it would suffice for whatever mundane farm task her father was going to have do. They normally ranged from weeding the fields to digging trenches to sorting the harvested crops into baskets to bring to the market later that same day. The door swung open just as she finished putting her dark hair up into a ponytail.

In the doorway stood her father, a big and burly man with greying hair and the same dark eyes as her own. His arms were folded over his chest. It doesn't take a fool to tell he is angry with her.

"I called you downstairs _six_ times," he hissed at Abrielle. "And what do you do six times? Not listen. All six times. You better not have been drawing that stupid boy again. If you were, so help me g-"

"I wasn't!" She protested, throwing her arms up in the air to show her innocence. "Look, I'm all dressed, okay?!"

Her father's dark eyes were fixed on her, never wavering from their target. "I don't believe you," he shook his head back and forth. Then, he looked away, towards the easel in the corner. A scowl formed on his face as he stomped over to her painting angrily.

She quickly tried to think of an excuse. "That was from last week!" She yelped. "I swear, I just got up!"

Her father didn't meet her gaze again. "I don't believe you," he repeated, albeit softer this time around. With a grumble, he picked up her painting of Brandin and held it in his hands for a few moments. As he surveyed it, his frown only expanded. Then, he silently snapped the canvas in half. The two pieces clattered to the floor, Brandin's perfect face and rosy lips ripped in two. Tears welled in Abrielle's eyes.

"Daddy!" She cried, rushing over to the broken painting. She fell to her knees and picked up the painting with her trembling hands. Brandin's face was split in two, the tear almost directly down the middle. Her week's work had been destroyed in one seconds, ripped in two by the man that controlled every aspect of her life. The flood gates opened and silver tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Her father didn't move. "This has slid for too long. These stupid paintings you do will get you nowhere in life, Abrielle. You know what gets you somewhere? Hardwork. Painting takes away from the time you are working. You need to help your mother and I, Abrielle. You are fifteen now. Fifteen year olds all work on their family's farms and don't do stupid things like painting. I'm sorry it had to be this way, but this is for the better."

With that, her father gave the wooden easel a hard kick. The cans sitting atop it flew to to the floor, their paint splattering everywhere. Red paint coated her jeans, making it look as if she had just been murdered. And in a way, she had been.

"I better see you downstairs in two minutes or your painting won't be the only thing that is broken," he father threatened. She heard his footsteps exit the room and make their way down the creaking stairs.

With a sniffle, Abrielle brought herself to her feet. She reluctantly followed in her father's footsteps, making her way out of the room and down the stairs. She doesn't bother to clean up the mess that her father created. She let the red paint cling to her jeans and the salty tears stay in her eyes.

Outside, dawn was breaking. The sky was a vivid red hue. She noticed it was the same red shade as the paint her father had spilled all over her jeans.

The same shade as blood.

* * *

 _Draven Sinveil, 18_.

How much can a person take until they break?

His brother broke when he was six. In the middle of the night, his heart stopped. It couldn't go on anymore. His body had failed; his body broke.

His father broke two days later. In the bright light of the midsummer day, he had chosen to hang himself by the same rope he used to bunch together bales of hay on their farm. The grief from losing his favorite son had been to much. The pain he experienced was so severe. He decided he couldn't bare to live another sunrise. His father's heart broke.

His mother broke when he was seven. Dreams constantly taunted her when she slept, and when she woke, reality wasn't much better. Her son was dead, her husband had chosen to take his own life. She became hysterical. The line between reality and her imagination had been blurred. Then, in the early morning, she mysteriously vanished without warning. She left behind her son, she left behind everything. Her mind had broke and had shattered into a million pieces.

His uncle broke long before he was born. An avid alcoholic, he drank away his blood filled past. His life savings were spent on booze and the occasional scrap of food he bought to keep his nephew from starving to death. He did it to forget. He did it to leave everything in the past. Yet, in the process, he had turned angry and abusive. His morals were non-existent. His soul had blackened and in the process, had become broken.

Draven had yet to break.

"You son of a bitch, get back here!" His uncle screeched. Drunkenly, he staggered about the tiny house as he searched for his nephew. A bottle of beer was plastered firmly in his left hand. His other hand was clenched into a tight fist. It looked as if he was about to punch something.

Gulping, Draven crawled towards his bed on all fours. Despite it being the middle of the day, the room was pitch black. The only light in the room came from a small crack between the closed door and the floor. The tiny room was windowless, the only object in it his wooden bed.

"Where are you scum?" His uncle boomed from the room over. Draven could hear the crashing of furniture as his uncle feverishly searched for him. Little did he know Draven was actually in the bedroom.

Eventually, he reached the bed. Draven fell flat to the floor, trying to be as silent as possible. One creak of a floorboard or a quiet kick of the bed could give his uncle a clue to his location. And he knew what would ensure if his uncle discovered him in his current state. _A beating._

He rolled under the bed, not daring to even breathe. For a few minutes, he lay as still as possible. The furniture continued to be searched in the adjacent room. He listened as it clattered to the ground and banged against the walls. His uncle continued to swear and curse.

Then, the door flew open. Bright light streamed into the room, casting long shadows along the floor. Draven gulped and stiffened his body. He prayed his uncle would turn away, decide there was nothing in the room. Or maybe his uncle would just drop dead there, his body poisoned from all the alcohol he had consumed. Yet, his uncle stepped deeper into the room. He didn't turn back nor drop unconscious.

"Come out!" He screeched wildly. Draven only rolled further under the bed.

He listened as his uncle's heavy footsteps grew closer to him. Then, in what felt like a second, his uncle bent down and yanked him out from his hiding place. Draven was pulled to his feet and pushed back against a wall with a violent shove.

"Did you break the window Draven?" His uncle questioned forcefully.

Draven's eyes widened. He hadn't broken a window, his uncle had. But in his drunken state, his uncle would never remember. In his drunken state, he could only blame Draven for everything that went wrong about his life.

"Did you?" His uncle roared, desperately wanting an answer. Draven shook his head side to side in response.

"Liar!" His uncle yelled. He clenched his fist tightly and swung it at Draven's left cheek. It hit square on, a crunching sound resulting. Draven groaned in pain, quickly lifting his hand to cup his burning red cheek.

His uncle's dark lips curved into a frown. "Tell me the truth," he commanded. Lifting his bottle of liquor to his lips, he chugged whatever remained.

"I- I did tell the truth," Draven stuttered. He shut his eyes, preparing for another smack to the face or a kick to the leg. And as expected, a hard boot came flying towards his right calf. He clenched his teeth tightly and held in a scream.

"Now I'm out of liquor! This is all your fault, you ungrateful nephew of mine!"

Another kick. Another punch. Another smack. Draven didn't know how much of this he could take before he burst.

One punch to the nose was all it took. Draven's hazel eyes shot open. They glittered with rage; with a blazing fury. He lifted his hand into the air and punched it forwards. His uncle staggered backwards, clutching his gut, the spot where Draven had struck him. His uncle's brown eyes widened. Draven never struck back.

Draven found himself grinning. All these years, he had never fought back. He had absorbed it all like a sponge, taking all the pain in, but never letting any out. He punched at his uncle again. The feeling he felt when his fist collided with his uncle's thick skin was so amazing, words couldn't begin to describe it. All the years of pain and suffering were let out.

"I have taken all your crap uncle! Without a single protest or scream, I let you use me as your personal punching bag for years. I am not a punching bag you can use whenever you please! I am a person, a real live person. Did you ever consider I had feelings? Did you ever consider what your punches did to me? People asked me where I got my bruises and cuts. And you know what I had to say to them? I got them on the farm. We don't even have a farm uncle! I lied for you all these years! I lied to protect you. But you never protected me. No- you treated me crap. So it's my time to return the favor!"

Draven punched his uncle again. He was lost in a fit of rage, his anger controlling him. Yet, his uncle didn't even fight back. He was too shocked to do anything, so he lay there on the ground, taking in all the punches like Draven had for so many years. A puddle of blood began to form around his uncle's limp body.

After a few minutes of punching, Draven began to tire. His punches grew weaker and less frequent. His snarls of rage began to grow quieter. His work had been complete. His uncle lay in a pool of his own blood, unconscious.

Draven slumped to the ground, utterly defeated. He, like the rest of his family, had broke.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Did you think what Draven did was just? If someone hurts you, is it right to hurt them back? The same goes with Abrielle. Do you think it was okay for her father to break her artwork? And how do these tributes stack up against the rest of them? I'd love to know who is your favorite so far!**

 **Some of you were asking about how the Careers were formed so early in the timeline of the games. I posted a bit about that in the AN of the last chapter, so feel free to check that out.**

 **Tata! Until next time,**

 **paper :)**


	9. District 4 Intros: The Sailor, The Siren

_District Four Introductions: The Sailor and the Siren_

* * *

 _Albert Quarius, 15._

* * *

To Albert, the world was as flat as a pancake. The shimmering blue waters they sailed on stretched for miles on end—until they didn't. Somewhere far out in the ocean was the edge of the world, a giant cliff that extended for infinity. Those who dared near it never returned and had surely fallen into the endless black abyss of nothingness.

Waves lapped up against the wooden vessel, causing the ship to rock back and forth slightly. Yet, on the deck, the peaceful sounds of the waves were drowned out by the crew's drunk laughter.

"Albert, your turn to pick!" The drunk Sharkbreath declared, a glass bottle of rum plastered in his left hand. He clung it is vigorously, as if it were a prized possession worth boatloads of money. The bottle shone bright in the midday light, reflecting a bright ray back towards the sun. Sharkbreath took yet another sip of his drink. Moments later, a monstrous burp flew out of his mouth.

The crew hollered in unison. "Great one Sharky! That may be a new record!" Westley, another crewmate, congratulated. He gave Sharkbreath a congratulatory slap on the back before returning his attention to the cards in his own hand.

 _"_ Idoits," Albert murmured rather loudly to himself. Shaking his head back and forth, he extended his left hand outward to pick the top card off the pile. Quickly looking at it, he realized it wasn't the card he desired. He grunted and reluctantly put the card he just picked with the rest of his. If there was one thing Albert hated, it was losing. And with these cards, that was what he would be doing.

Sharkbreath narrowed his sea blue eyes at Albert. "What did you just call me?" He hissed, his joyous tone of voice immediately turning sour.

"Idoit," Albert repeated confidently, meeting Sharkbreath's icy gaze with his own dark green one. Long ago, someone had told him his eyes were the same hue as kelp, yet he disagreed. Kelp was weak and flimsy. His eyes were piercing and were not worthy of being said to have looked like kelp. He decided that they looked more like sea monster scales. After all, he was the son of an infamous pirate. He couldn't be weak nor flimsy. Albert, like his eyes, had to be strong and daring.

Sharkbreath shrugged his shoulders and let out another loud burp. "Sounds about right," he chortled. The rest of the crew joined in, laughing and burping along to the lapping of the waves.

Albert grinned, fanning his five cards in his hand. He raised them a few inches to conceal his freckle dotted face. A wonderful idea had just sprung into his mind. Although he had picked horrendous cards, there was still a sliver of a chance that he could win.

"Look, a sea monster!" Albert yelped dramatically. He extended his hand and pointed his finger in the direction of the port side of the boat. The twelve crew members gasped and leapt eagerly from their seats. All wanted a peak at this fabled being only seen in stories. Like a pack of wild animals, they ripped and clawed their way over to the edge of the boat. Albert chuckled and returned his attention to the pile of cards smack dab in the middle of the wooden table.

As the crew fought over whether or not there really was a sea monster in the water, Albert sifted through the deck of cards. Finally, he found the one he was looking for. He rapidly replaced his old card with the new one. He placed his five cards on his lap and turned back towards the crew members.

Albert faked rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, it was just my imagination!" He called. Disappointed, the crew trudged back to their seats with frowns plastered on their faces. They desperately wanted to see the fabled being, but alas, it didn't exist. They were all too dumb to realize Albert had just won the game, and the gold prize that came with it.

Once the crew had all returned to their seats, the game commenced. Everyone else drew a card and added it to their hand. When everyone had gone, Albert threw his hand down on the table with a victorious holler. He had gotten a straight.

"I won! I won, and you all lost! I'm the best at cards and you all suck!" Albert chanted happily, basically beaming with joy. He leapt to his feet and danced around the table gleefully. He swept the wooden chest containing the prize fold off the table and hugged it tightly in his skinny arms.

"Actually—" Sharkbreath interjected, raising his cards into the air so Albert could see clearly. "I won kid."

Albert gasped, squinting his eyes to get a better view of the cards. Sure enough, Sharkbreath had drawn a flush, while he had only had a straight. His jaw hung open, his body paralyzed in a state of shock. Sharkbreath pried the prize chest out of his cold hands and smiled victoriously.

"But—but—" Albert stuttered, at a loss for words. "That's impossible! I am the best card player in the entire world! No one ever beats me! I made sure I had the best cards out of all of you! Impossible! You must have cheated! You surely cheated! I'm telling Dad!"

Albert stomped his foot on the ground and stalked off angrily. _How could he have lost? He cheated! Cheaters always win, or at least, that was what his father had told him. His father couldn't have lied to him! He always won when he cheated! Sharkbreath must have cheated the cheater! He was going to get it!_

Albert stormed into his father's quarters, slamming the door loudly as he entered. Startled, his father glanced up from his work at his desk. He squinted his eyes, a bit confused at why his son was so angry this early in the day. Albert didn't normally have his tantrums until after noon.

"Hey son, what's up?" His father asked, standing from his seat. He made his way across the room, weaving through various items of elaborate furniture. Finally, he reached his son and gave him a large smile.

"Everything! I lost at cards! Sharkbreath cheated!" Albert whined, clenching his fists tightly.

His father looked away, his brown gaze slightly clouded. "Arrrrg," he grumbled, clenching his fists like his son had done moments before.

"Punish him! Punish him!" Albert whined, now jumping up and down. The cabin shook slightly as he did so. In the back of the room, a glass lamp slid to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

"I'll talk to him. No one cheats my son."

Albert grinned widely, turning away from his father. He began to walk towards the exit, but was stopped just before he opened the door.

"Son?" His father called after him.

"Yeah Dad?" Albert asked, turning halfway round to face his father.

"You know the idoitic fisherman we caught yesterday near Hooksett Island off the coast of Panem?" His father asked, his brown eyes illuminating in the faint light of the cabin. A slight smile could be seen on his face.

"Yeah," Albert shrugged his shoulders, turning back to the door.

"Well, for all the trouble Sharkbreath put you through, I was thinking that maybe you could _interrogate_ him tomorrow before we set sail?"

Albert's eyes lit up. His lips curved into a wide smile, and he turned back to the door. He loved interrogating the prisoners they caught out at sea. It was entertaining to watch them cry and plead, begging to be brought back to their families. "Sure," he grinned before exiting the chamber.

Sharkbreath was going to have to walk the plank _and_ he'd get to interrogate a stupid landlubber. Today was truly a great day.

* * *

 _Nerida Willows, 16._

She had always wished she could be a mermaid.

From the moment her grandmother had uttered the word to her as a little girl, Nerida had always yearned to be one. Perhaps it was the fact that mermaids swam all day, without a care in the word. She would give anything to swim her days away in the crystal waters that only existed in legends. If given the choice, she would trade her useless legs away for a tail without a second thought.

Or perhaps it was the way mermaids looked. She had always been pretty with her long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her almond shaped face was the envy of many. Boys had always dreamed about kissing her rosy pink heart-shaped lips. Yet, mermaids were always more attractive than she. Their beauty was untouchable, a standard unreachable to morals like her. She yearned for her hair to stay puffy and pretty even while swimming, and for her sun-tanned skin to never burn.

It could even be the way mermaids lived. Her grandmother had told her stories of mermaids living in grand underwater castles with all the things they could ever dream of. They had endless parties and plenty of food to go around. The mermaids were surrounded by luxuries only found in District One and the Capitol.

Yet, all her yearning was for nothing. The closest she would ever get to being a mermaid was pretending. And at sixteen, she was growing too old to pretend.

Nerida wrapped her royal blue towel tightly around her body, beads of water sliding slowly down her legs. She had just taken her daily dip in the ocean, a tradition she had started when she was a mere six years old. Rain or shine, she always found herself swimming in the ocean's currents day after day. She was now heading back for dinner. Then sun was beginning to sink low behind the horizon line. Half had already been swallowed by the ocean's blue waters far out at sea.

Nerida's small ears perked as a shrill pitched whistle rung through the humid air.

"I'd hit that!" A masculine voice called from behind her. She whipped around, her wavy blonde beach curls following close behind. Her round blue eyes land on two boys standing on the corner of the sand littered street.

The taller one wiggled his eyebrows, giving her a flirtatious wink. His strawberry blonde hair glistened in the bright sunlight, almost making him look like the devil. Chuckling, she imagined a golden pitchfork in his hand and curvy red tail spiraling up behind him. The other had his fingers in his mouth, continuing to whistle at her. She stiffened and kept walking. Nerida didn't dare turn back to face them.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" The shorter one questioned. Nerida listened attentively as heavy footsteps began to follow her lighter ones. Yet, she kept walking, trying desperately to ignore their demeaning calls and hollers.

"Oh, we have a quiet one!" The redhead screeched. Their footsteps were beginning to grow closer. She hurried her pace, hoping that if she didn't respond, they'd eventually go away.

"Come on sweetheart, just a little peck on the cheek! We'll let you go after that, promise!" The short one yelped after her. Nerida only continued to walk faster.

Soon, she was in an all-out sprint. Her legs pumped fast against one another, her feet flying forwards. She huffed and wheezed, not used to all this running. "This one has got her some legs!" A voice from behind her called. With that, she ran faster.

Eventually she found herself out of breath. She came slowly to a stop, the two boys surrounding her like sharks. They licked their lips and curiously eyed their prey.

"We finally caught up, sweetheart. I knew you couldn't outrun us forever."

Nerida gulped, glancing around anxiously. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her father's house coated with a layer of aqua paint. Its front windows shimmered with light from the sinking sun. The white shutters banged up against the wood as an ocean breeze their way. She smiled slightly. It wasn't too far away—fifty yards at most. An idea came to mind and with it, her smile grew larger.

"What you smiling about, babycakes?" The red-haired boy asked.

The shorter one with brown hair chuckled. "I bet she's smiling about us, Pistris!"

The red-haired boy, who she guessed was Pistris, grinned widely, his pearly white teeth glistening like fangs. He eyed her mischievously and nodded his head slowly. "I bet the girl is, Fluctus."

Nerida's ears twitched. "I have a name, you know." She mumbled quietly. Picking up a wet strand of hair, she began to twirl it around in her hair. If this was going to work, she needed to look innocent. She needed to make them trust her and make them think she was just some mindless girl with no idea what was going on. Anything could be further from the truth.

Simultaneously, the two boys threw up their hands and chortled. "She speaks! The girl speaks!" They chanted in unison and continued to circle her.

Once they quieted down, Pistris opened his mouth to speak again. "So what is it darling? Beautiful? Hot?"

Nerida shook her head back and forth innocently, trying to make herself look weak in their eyes. "No, I've never heard those names before. Mine's Nerida," she mumbled again quietly, yet just loud enough for them to hear.

The boys chuckled, inching closer to her. "Oh really?" Fluctus questioned. "Personally, I like sweetheart better."

Nerida shrugged her shoulders, giggling. "Call me that then!" She chimed, stepping closer to Fluctus. She flirtatiously brushed his side as she moved.

Fluctus grinned widely, taking another step towards Nerida. "How about that kiss now, sweetheart?"

Nerida nodded her head slowly, taking a quick look behind to make sure Pistris wasn't too close. To her relief, he was a few feet away. _Perfect_. She smiled widely, and turned back towards Fluctus. "Eyes closed," she flirtatiously giggled, pretending to close her own eyes. Then she leaned in to kiss Fluctus. He did the same, leaning to kiss her with closed eyes.

When their lips were about an inch away, Nerida lifted her left leg into the air. With a powerful kick, she hit Fluctus square between the legs. He howled in pain, staggering backwards to recover. Grinning, Nerida darted in the direction of her small house. She ran as fast as she could, never looking back to see if Fluctus or Pistris was following. Yet, she could hear their screams nearing her.

The house was growing closer. _30 yards. 20 yards. 10._ However, she could also hear the boy's howls growing closer. _40 yards, 30 yards, 20 yards._ She sprinted as fast as she could, her eyes locked on her bright blue house. Once inside its locked door and sturdy walls, she knew she would be safe from the terrors outside.

Finally, she reached the door and flung it open. It hit the outside wall with the loud smack. Hurrying inside, she shut the door quickly. It locked with a satisfying click. Nerida had made it just in time. Outside, the two boys were scratching and yanking at the door handle like a bunch of wild animals. Yet, they couldn't hurt her in the safety of her own home.

"We know where you live Nerida!" One shrieked loudly. "We'll be back for you, count on that! And next time, you won't be so lucky!"

Nerida chuckled, slinking down to the floor with a sigh of relief. "Good luck with that! I hope you drown in the ocean and sink to the murky depths where you belong!" She yelled loud enough so they could hear it on the other side of the thick door.

She smiled to herself, elated her plan had worked. Perhaps Nerida was too old to be a mermaid, but she had found something better.

She was a siren, and she was deadly.

* * *

 **A/N: Halfway through the intros! Sorry for the wait, I have been swamped with work. I have finals this and next week, so I have been studying loads for that. Also, this weekend, I went away and had no computer access. But, finally, here you have it, the District 4 Reapings. I hope you enjoy, and if your tribute hasn't been featured yet, stay patient! They are all coming soon, I promise!**

 **What did you think of Albert and Nerida? Do you like how Nerida handled the situation, or do you think she could have done it a different way? I haven't even though of placements yet, but even those these two aren't careers, I see them as two really strong tributes. Do you agree, disagree?** **Let me know!**

 **Thanks for reading, and if you have time, review! They really make my day if you are able.**

 **Bye for now,**

 **paper :)**


	10. District 3 Intros: Normal

_District Three Introductions: Normal?_

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16._

* * *

"Sereina!" Marie, her aunt, called. "Time to get up! Work doesn't do itself!"

Sereina stirred in her bed, her light hazel eyes blinking open slowly. She rubbed them tiredly and sat up in her bed with a loud yawn. Her mousy brown hair was ruffled and unbrushed, making it look like she had a rat's nest in it. A thin strand of drool hung from her lips. She quickly wiped it away and stretched her arms high into the air. Another day at her aunt's house; another day catching mice. She sighed and brought herself to her feet.

Quickly hustling over to the wooden dresser, she flung the drawers wide open. Sereina surveyed the shirts in the top drawer and picked up her work blouse. It was a light green shirt with a few pockets and buttons near the collar. Embedded on the left breast pocket was a small picture of a grey mouse. She laughed as she imagined the grey mouse squeaking and scurrying about. On the back side of the shirt were a few words that spelled out: _Ampere Extermination & Trapping. _She turned it around and slipped it on over her head.

Opening the bottom drawer, she picked out a nice pair of black trousers that she normally wore when at work. She stepped into them and grabbed a green belt the same color as her uniform. She tied it around her waist and grabbed a hairbrush from the top of the plastic dresser. She began to brush out the many knots in her hair, wincing a few times. Then, when her hair was unknotted, she took a few strands and braided them together. She was ready for work.

"Coming!" Sereina replied, flinging the door to her room open. She rushed out into the narrow hallway and then into the busy kitchen. There her mother, father and aunt were all sitting at the dining table enjoying their breakfast of eggs and toast. Behind them a black teakettle was whistling a loud song on the stovetop.

Sereina's mother grinned up at her as she entered the room. "Good morning sweetheart," she chimed. "How did you sleep?"

Sereina huffed, making her way over to the kitchen counter where a large plate of eggs sat waiting for her. "Not so great," she replied. "I keep having dreams about the fire and Alessia."

Her mother frowned and returned to eating. "We all do. I hope Alessia is happy wherever she may be roaming," she muttered before biting into her piece of burnt toast.

After grabbing her breakfast, Sereina sat down in the only empty seat at the table next to her aunt and father. She began to eat while the rest of her family sat in silence.

"I tried my hand at cooking again Sereina. Did I do better this time?" Her aunt asked, breaking the eerie silence that followed whenever the fire or her sister was mentioned.

Sereina shook her head back and forth, giggling slightly. She lifted a piece of blackened toast into the air and attempted to break it with her hands. Despite having a decent amount of arm strength, the piece of toast wouldn't crack in two. Only dark crumbs fluttered down towards the table.

"Does that answer your question?" Sereina chuckled. She placed the piece of toast back on her plate and began to scoop eggs into her mouth once more. They tasted slightly of cardboard, but compared to the toast, they were heavenly.

Her father grinned. "I'd like to see you do better!" He exclaimed gleefully. The mood in the kitchen had taken a total U-turn from when she had first arrived. The rest of her family, along with her, chuckled at the comment.

"Whatever," Sereina replied, brushing her father off. With that, she scooped the last of her eggs into her mouth. The piece of burnt toast still remained untouched on her plate. "I'm done Auntie Marie."

Her aunt nodded her head, her brown eyes flickering down towards Sereina's plate. She narrowed them slightly, then returned her gaze to Sereina. "But you haven't even finished your toast!"

Sereina rolled her hazel eyes, which in the dim lighting of the kitchen, appeared to be the same shade of light brown as her aunt's. She picked up her plate and headed over to the kitchen. Then, picking up the inedible piece of toast, she began to scrub the dish with cold tap water. After, Sereina placed her dish on the side of the counter and shoved the inedible piece of toast in her back pant pocket. _Perhaps the mice would find it tasty._

"You ready to go?" Marie asked as she stood from her seat. Sereina nodded her head excitedly, turning back to face her family. Contrary to most teens in District Three, she was no longer in school. After their house was "accidently" burned down last year, her parents could no longer afford to send her. Instead they made her go to work with her aunt every day to earn a little extra cash. Yet, Sereina actually enjoyed working more than school. School had always bored her. Truthfully, she didn't care about multiplication tables, the history of Panem, or what nucleotides made up DNA. She preferred to work with her hands and actually build things.

"You bet!" Sereina chimed happily. She raced to the door and opened it with an excited squeal. Her aunt followed after her slowly, yet the level of excitement Sereina possessed was not seen in her aunt. Yesterday, Sereina had set a complex trap for a few mice in their client's house. It took her a long time to think up as it was filled with various complex parts. She was eager to see if the mice had fallen for her trick or if they had again outsmarted her.

She tapped her foot anxiously against the ground, waiting for her aunt to catch up. "Come on slowpoke, we don't have all day!" She playfully jived.

Her aunt rolled her eyes, hurrying her pace slightly. A large woman, her aunt couldn't move as fast as the nimble Sereina. Plus, Marie had about 20 years on Sereina. Her age definitely didn't help.

The two women hurried to the train station. A chilly fall air nipped at Sereina's milky skin, causing it to turn a bright red tone. Sereina's teeth began to chatter as they finally reached the bustling station.

Marie stopped abruptly, turning towards her niece. "Sereina, I just want you to know we aren't going to the Volt's today. I had a call last night from a new client. I think you'll remember him—he went by the name uh—Reddin. Yes—that was it. Pierre Reddin."

 _Pierre Reddin._ Sereina felt her limbs numb, yet it wasn't because of the cold. She did indeed recognize that name. He was the one who had killed her sister, and although not intentionally, he still was the reason Sereina didn't see Alessia's face every morning when she got up and every night before she went to bed. He was the reason she could no longer listen to her sister's carefree giggles or watch her play with her various toys. _Pierre was the reason she was dead._

Sereina felt as if she were choking on air. She was speechless, at a loss for words. Her aunt didn't seem to notice and proceeded to board the train that would take them to Pierre's house. Yet, Sereina's legs were frozen in place. She couldn't move; she couldn't breathe.

The train's engine began to rumble. The tracks sparked to life, bright flares flying in various directions. Then, in what felt like a second, the entire train was ablaze. Inside the windows of the cars, flames raged. They engulfed the entire train, and began to inch closer to her. She tried to flee—to run away from the raging fire. Yet, her legs were still frozen and she soon found herself surrounded by a hot blaze.

She blinked her hazel eyes, and the world returned to normal. The flames were replaced by an icy breeze. The train as no longer a big pile of black ashes. Everything was as it should be.

Sereina quickly hurried onto the train just before the doors slammed shut.

Her nightmares were spilling over into the day.

* * *

 _Gizmo McGhee, 14._

From the moment they were born, Gadget and Gizmo did everything together. They were nursed together, changed together, and fed together. When they were toddlers, they were potty trained together, taught to walk together, and instructed how to read together. By the time they were children, they were schooled together, played sports together, and had playdates together. When they aged in to teenagers, they crushed together, complained together, and talked back together.

Their entire lives were intertwined. However, so were their bodies. Right at the hip.

"Mother, can we go outside today?" Gizmo asked, batting his short eyelashes. He glanced up at his mother with wide, puppy-dog eyes. Normally, he liked to stay inside and code on the old computer his parents bought him for his fourteenth birthday, but today looked too nice to pass up. Although it was a bit chilly outside, as the thermometer he kept on his windowsill had read 51 degrees this morning, the sun was shining bright and it looked absolutely gorgeous. He could hear birds chirping happily from inside the house.

His mother hesitated, glancing down at her feet for a second. She normally only let the boys go outside when it was absolutely necessary, like when they had to go to school. She never let them out on weekends.

"Uh—"she mumbled, her gaze flickering up to Gizmo, then to Gadget. When his mother's dusty brown eyes met Gadget's, he instantly looked to Gizmo for reassurance. Gadget never liked to make decisions on his own, and always let his brother make them for him. Gizmo nodded his head slowly, as if we was telling his brother that it would be all right. Gadget smiled and returned his attention to the putty in his hand.

"I don't know," she responded after a long pause. "You know I don't like when you go out and play. It's not safe."

Gizmo huffed, tilting his head backwards. "Why is it not safe?" Gizmo asked. Yet, he knew deep inside why he and his brother couldn't go outside like normal children.

 _Normal children._ The two words hung around in his brain for a moment like the taste of rotted milk or a stale cracker. He knew there was no such thing as normal, but if normal did exist, the two were anything but. The idea of normality was the reason others stared at them whenever they walked into a room. It was the reason they were referred to as "freaks". And although his mother never said it, it was the reason they couldn't go play outside like _normal_ boys and girls could.

"I just worry about you," his mother murmured softly. Gadget looked up from his putty for a moment, and stared at his mother for a long time. He then did something he did very rarely: speak.

"Don't worry about us mother. We are stronger then we look," he whispered ever-so-softly. Although Gadget rarely talked, the meaning of his words made up for his lack of them. Unlike Gizmo's constant blabbering nonsense, Gadget's few words were always chosen carefully and were always important. They were quality over quantity, while Gizmo's were most defiantly quantity over quality.

Gadget's comment made Gizmo chuckle. "Yeah, look at us mother!" He raised his left arm into the air, while his brother raised his right. They both flexed their bony arms and pretended as if they were the strongest person in Panem. In reality, they were probably one of the weakest.

Their mother giggled slightly before turning towards the door. "Fine, I guess…" she murmured before trailing off.

"Yippee!" Gizmo squealed in delight. He sprinted towards the door, dragging Gadget behind him. The two were a bit awkward whenever they walked. With two sets of legs, four in all, there were a lot of directions in which they could move in. Their movements were often jerky and slow; in no way graceful. Yet, they always eventually got to where they wanted, even if it took them twice as long as a normal person.

 _Normal._ There the word was again. The word had no meaning, it was a measurement of something that could never be calculated. _Normal didn't exist, so why did he find himself constantly using it?_

Eventually, the two conjoined brothers reached the door. Gizmo twisted the doorknob and pushed open the white door with a grunt. As soon as the door opened, a wave of icy air entered the house. A chill ran up Gizmo's spine and goosebumps began to form on his pale arm. He glanced over at Gadget, and noticed he too was covered in the small bumps.

"Are you okay to go outside?" He asked his brother caringly. Of course, he didn't mind the cold, but he knew his brother did.

Gadget once again glanced up from his putty. Shrugging his shoulders, he shivered and went back to molding the small clay creation he had been working on all morning.

Gizmo smiled and stepped outside onto the front lawn. Gadget stumbled out after him, clutching firmly to his putty. Curiously, he looked around. Birds chirped high up in the leafless trees. The grass was a faded green color, some blades appearing more yellow than anything else. The sky was a normal blue shade.

 _Normal!_ He blinked his brown eyes a few times, trying to remember the definition of the word. Finally, after scanning through a few words, he retrieved it from his memory. _Normal: conforming to the standard or the common type._ He cursed himself for using such a stupid word to describe the sky. A sky couldn't conform to the standard or common type. What did a normal shade of blue even mean? He was so idiotic.

Gizmo huffed, growing more frustrated with himself. He glanced over at Gadget and then towards the putty in his hand. He smiled slightly, and idea coming to mind.

"Hey Gadget," he blurted. Gadget looked up from his creation and cocked his head to the side. "Can I see what you made?"

Gadget nodded his head mutely, handing the red putty over to Gizmo. Gizmo inspected it carefully, turning it around in his hand. He realized that all morning, his brother had been creating a pretty model of a bird. It looked to him like a robin, yet he could be wrong. The model was really nice, and was very detailed. It must have taken his brother a long time.

"Are you done with it?" Gizmo questioned, turning his attention back to his brother. His brother smiled at him, indicating he was finished with his creation.

"You can make another, right?"

Gadget nodded again silently.

"Good."

Gizmo curled his bony fingers around the warm putty. He began to grip it tighter, squishing the wings and beak of the bird. Then, he scrunched his nose angrily and crushed the deformed bird into a ball.

"That's what I think of normal!" Gizmo howled before pulling his brother back inside the house. Gadget willingly followed without a murmur of protest.

* * *

 **A/N: These brothers remind me so much of Phineas and Ferb. Lol.**

 **Anyways, tomorrow finals are over! Yay! That means more frequent updates, at least for a little while. How did you like Sereina and Gizmo and Gadget? Do you like that Gizmo and Gadget are Siamese Twins? Do you think this will hinder or help them? Please tell me in the comments!**

 **Oh, one last weird thing. I love birds so much. I have added them into almost every chapter of the story, and even have added them as the story profile picture. You may recall the prologue chapter where the president killed the bird. Anyways, yesterday I was walking home and there was a dead bird right in front of my door! It was pretty chilling and was a super weird coincidence and really reminded me of this story! Maybe it was sent from Heron herself! Just thought I'd share that with ya'll.**

 **Thanks for reading!  
**

 **Bye for now!**

 **paper :)**


	11. District 8 Intros: Run from the Truth

_District Eight Introductions: Running from the Truth_

* * *

 _Merino Jones, 13._

* * *

"I'm hungry," Merino whined, leaning back against the concrete wall. A chill ran up his spine as his body made contact with the frigid wall. His crooked teeth began to chatter sporadically and he wrapped his frail arms around his body in an attempt to try to hold in some warmth.

"Then get a job!" Horton yelped at the top of his lungs, throwing his hands into the air. "It's not that hard!"

"Speak for yourself," Merino retorted, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to try to generate some warmth. "You know how I feel about factory owners."

"We know, we know," Horton replied, rolling his hazel eyes at Merino playfully. "You think they are rich and greedy. Why would you ever work for them? It's not like you need the money!"

Merino's teeth only chattered louder in response.

Linen laughed, her head cocking backwards as she did so. She ripped a ragged and tattered red scarf off her neck and threw it in Merino's direction. It landed right at his feet with a silent thud. Merino bent down, picking up it and wrapping it around his neck. "Where did you get this?" He asked her. Despite its age, it was probably once expensive and at some time, costed a small fortune.

She only shrugged and glanced down the narrow alleyway. A rusty pickup truck rolled by, its motor's rumbling sound ringing through Merino's ears as it drove past. Merino smiled wide, an idea coming to his mind. He lunged forwards and grabbed Linen and Horton's hands. They yelped in protest and Merino ran towards the end of the ally, dragging his two friends behind him.

When they reached the end, Merino popped his tanned head out into the bright light of the street. He squinted his dark eyes and blinked rapidly, trying desperately to adjust them to the lighting. In reality, he hated the bright lights of the main streets of District 8. Here, it was easy to be caught by a peacekeeper or even a simple citizen passing by. In the darkness of the alleyways, it was much easier to steal and not get caught.

"What in the world do you think you are doing?" Horton sputtered angrily. "You know those peacekeepers are on the watch for me!"

Linen nodded her head in agreement. "Yeah Linen, whatever you are doing isn't a good idea. We should go back," she input softly.

Merino rolled his eyes, ignoring his friends. After a few moments, when his eyes had adjusted to the radiant light of the day, he glanced around desperately for the truck. Out of the corner of his eye, he found it rolling off towards the factory in the distance. His smile only grew wider.

Before his friends could protest, Merino took off after the truck. Despite his small stance and short legs—he was fast. He pumped his legs hard against the ground, his swollen feet beginning to ache after a short while. Soon, he found himself gaining on the slow truck. Good thing this road wasn't paved, or the truck would be going four times the speed it was.

"Wait up stupid!" Horton howled after him.

"Merino! Come back!" Linen shouted.

Merino didn't listen. He could distantly hear his friend's footsteps far behind him, but more importantly, he could hear the truck's motor growing closer. Soon enough, he was only a few yards from the back of the truck. When he got close enough, he hurled himself into the back of the truck. He hit the metal base of the truck with a loud crashing noise.

Brushing some dust off his already dirty clothes, he stood to his feet once again. He glanced around the truck quickly, scanning all the loot the truck's trunk had to offer. Closest to the driver was a few stacked crates, each covered by an off-white tarp. Nearest to his feet were a few spare tires, and closest to the back were a few boxes each the size of a window. He decided to check the boxes first, hoping that a nice treasure would be hidden beneath the cardboard.

He knelt down, beginning to shred the boxes open with his bare hands. Pieces of cardboard flew in all directions, but he didn't care. By the time whoever driving the car noticed the boxes were shredded, he hopefully would already be long gone.

Then, out of nowhere, another body flew into the back of the truck. He jumped in surprise, glancing over to see just who that body was. To his relief, it was only Linen. Merino lifted his head and glanced back at the winding dirt path. There ran the chubby Horton who was huffing and puffing for his life. Merino chuckled and returned his attention to the boxes.

"What do you think you are doing?" Linen questioned, bringing herself to a standing position.

Merino smiled, pulling a nice quilt out of the first box. It was well made—he could see the intricate stiches and small pink hearts embroidered in the fabric. He decided he would bring it hope to his mother. She would definitely appreciate it.

"Wha-?" Merino mumbled, not bothering to look at Linen's surely disappointed face. He continued to rip open boxes furiously, fearing the truck may soon be reaching its destination.

"What do you think you are doing?" Linen repeated, this time her tone a bit more angry.

"Stealing."

"But what if that man needs the quilt? What if it is for his ailing grandmother?"

Merino snorted, amused by Linen's comment. "Trust me, it's not. People who own cars don't have ailing grandmothers, okay? If he can afford a car, he can surely afford a stupid quilt."

Linen placed her hands onto her hips. "But-"

"No buts," he cut her off. "He can afford it."

Then all of a sudden, the car jerked to a stop. Merino and Linen went flying forwards, hitting the back of the roof of the truck with a loud bang. Merino released his tight grip on the quilt and quickly scrambled to his feet. Linen did the same, jumping to her feet with a soft squeal.

"We-gotta-go," she muttered fast, her words slurring together. Merino nodded his head, agreeing with her. Yet, he needed to get the quilt before he left. All of this couldn't be for nothing.

He searched around frantically, his eyes darting from place to place. Finally, he saw the quilt draped over the side of the truck. He leaned forwards to grab it, but before he could reach it, a strong hand yanked him backwards.

Merino was turned around and pulled out of the truck. Glancing upwards, his eyes met another pair, these ones as green as fresh grass. The man scowled at him and clenched his shirt tightly.

"Were you stealing from me, boy?" He roared, his voice loud and deep. Merino gulped loudly and looked back towards the quilt. Linen was nowhere to be seen.

When Merino failed to answer, the man pulled him closer. "I asked you a question, boy." He growled.

Merino chuckled, giving the man a toothy smile before bringing his clenched fist to the man's face. His hand smacked hard against the man's face, causing him to stagger backwards and release his grip on Merino's shirt. Merino quickly staggered to his feet and retreated back towards where the quilt lay. He snatched the quilt and began running.

Even when the man yelled angrily after him, Merino didn't dare look back. He just kept running until he could no longer hear the sound of the rumbling motor or the screeching of tires in his ears.

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18._

She remembered the sounds of the bombs as they landed on the rooftops of unsuspecting citizens; she remembered jolting awake in the middle of the night to terrified shrieks and shouts; she remembered the Capitol troops storming into houses and ripping children out of their parent's arms; she remembered that roaring noise of enemy planes as they soared over District Eight; she remembered the muffled groans of her father as he slowly died from an illness that could have been easily cured in a hospital, only there was no hospitals; she remembered the whimpering of her twin sister as she cried herself to sleep; she remembered the promise of a better future, yet no future had come; she remembered the rebellion; she remembered it all. She was an innocent child, only eight years old. Despite her young age, she remembered. After all, who could forget?

"I wish you would stop killing animals Ana," Grace told her sister as they both sat on the couch in the small living room of their house. She swung her legs back and forth, her straight blonde hair falling flat down her back. She blew a small strand out of her face and returned her attention to her scowling sister.

Ana rolled her dark eyes, leaning back on the couch. "I wish you would stop caring about what I do," she retorted.

"Well, I do care. And I don't appreciate you killing things. You do remember the rebellion, don't you?" Grace said, albeit a bit softer this time.

"Duh," Ana snorted. "Who around here doesn't?"

Grace's shoulders slumped. "You apparently. Remember the pact we made after dad died?"

"We were like nine. We made that stupid pact when we were _children._ We're eighteen now Grace. We aren't children anymore."

Grace chuckled, finding irony in her sister's statement. At eighteen, they were still considered children. They were eligible to be reaped; only children were eligible. Yet, her sister firmly believed that she was all grown up. "Well you are acting like one."

Ana sprung to her feet, now furious. She stomped her foot on the wooden ground and clenched her hands into small fists full of rage. "And you aren't? Stop getting all up in my business! Do you want to go hungry, huh? You haven't even thought about what would happen if I stopped bringing home food to put on the table! The hospital doesn't bring in any money. Mom and you have never made a dollar in your life! We'd all starve! So think before you go and criticize me Grace! Why can't you just be like a normal sister and go do your own stupid thing?"

Grace sighed, standing to her feet. She made her way towards the kitchen door and turned back towards her sister, her blue eyes soft. She hated agreeing with her sister. "Well, sorry I care so much."

"You should be sorry," Ana snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned away from her sister and angrily stomped out of the room, a shining knife in hand. With a loud banging noise, the door slammed shut behind her sister. She was probably going to go kill more squirrels and rabbits just because Grace had told her not to. _Gah, what a stupid sister she was. All I wanted to do was help, and she just pushes me further away. Stupid._

Grace headed into the kitchen with her head hung low. She blinked her eyes a few times, surprised to see her mother sitting at the table munching on some stale bread. Normally at this hour, she was helping out at the hospital. Grace smiled weakly and made her away over to her mother.

"Hey mom," she chimed, slinking into an adjacent seat. Her mother lifted her head, glancing around the kitchen warily. "Right here mom," Grace chuckled, waving her left hand right in front of her mother's face. Her mother smirked slightly, turning towards her daughter.

"Hey sweetheart," her mother replied tiredly. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really. Ana and I just had another argument and all. She still won't give up hunting, even though she knows I hate it and knows it reminds me of the rebelli-"

Grace stopped mid sentence, her throat suddenly feeling dry. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and she could no longer breathe. Her mother placed a hand on Grace's arm, but Grace pulled away quickly.

"It's alright honey," her mother coaxed, yet Grace didn't want to hear it. She stood from her seat and headed towards the room's exit. She suddenly felt lightheaded, dizzy almost. She needed to lie down somewhere.

She made her way out of the kitchen and into the living room. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt her body go limp. She felt like she was dying. Her breaths became shorter and quicker, her breathing more rapid. Her body began to tremble and shake violently as if an earthquake from deep inside her body was tearing her heart into two. Her vision began to grow smaller, and before she knew it, she was enveloped in a black cloud of smoke.

When she woke, she noticed her cheeks were stained with dry, salty tears. Above her loomed the tall figure of her mother, a worried expression plastered on her face. Her body ached as she sat up on the couch and gazed about the room like a deer caught in headlights.

Then, before she could stand, her mother enveloped her in a tight hug. Tears flooded out of Grace's eyes and down her face. It felt good to let it all out.

Yet no amount of tears could fix what she had witnessed ten years prior. She had seen horrors that people could only imagine. She had been to hell and back, and she had survived.

* * *

 **A/N: Eight down, four to go! How did you like these two tributes? Predicted placements so far? Have you seen a tribute that really stands out to you yet? Any bold predictions for a possible winner?**

 **Thanks for reading, and if you haven't seen your tribute, stay patient. We still have 1, 6, 10 and 11 left if you were wondering. I promise they are coming. I'll definitely finish all the intros by the end of June, and I'll probably have the reaping recap, goodbyes, and the train stuff done. Maybe even more if I'm diligent! Who knows?**

 **If you have time, review, it really makes my day. If not, I hope you enjoy the read. Feel free to tell me if my writing ever needs improvements.**

 **Signing out,**

 **paper :)**


	12. District 11 Intros: It's Okay to Cry

_District Eleven Introductions: It's Okay to Cry_

* * *

 _Velicity Peach, 14._

* * *

The sweltering midday sun beat down on Velicity as she weeded the small garden. It was hot—she'd seen a small glass thermometer on the side of Rosa's house read 96 when she'd arrived earlier that morning. Beads of sweat rolled down her dark forehead before falling off her face entirely. They tumbled to the ground, the small salty droplets of water saturating the dry soil beneath her feet. This year there had been a horrible drought in District Eleven, and most of the plants had died off. If it were not for her constant attention, the garden she was weeding would likely be dead too.

"Velicity!" A voice called from inside the small house. Velicity lifted her head, the brim of her floppy sunhat fanning upwards as she did so. Squinting her dark brown eyes, she spotted a silhouette of an old woman on the other side of the window. The woman, Rosa, was waving happily to her.

"Do you want a glass of lemonade sweetheart?" Rosa questioned, her shrill voice barely audible to Velicity. "I can feel the heat radiating from in here! You must be just parched!"

Velicity sighed, turning back towards the dry garden. Although she did want a break from the heat, she knew that Rosa would just use this as an opportunity to try to talk to her and coax her out of her thick shell. And if anything else, Velicity wanted to remain tucked under the shell she had spent so many years trying to create. Yet, the thought of sugary lemonade gliding down her dry throat was too tempting to pass up.

She reluctantly found herself walking towards the house dotted with peeling white paint. The faded green shutters swung back and forth in the stale breeze. They too screamed for a fresh coat of paint. The bristling yellow grass rubbed at her uncovered ankles, begging to be cut. In the distance, an old willow tree stood tall, its many leaves drooping gloomily. The sky was a plain blue shade; yet that too felt slightly discolored. Everything within sight was lifeless, all the fun and color drained out years ago.

Making her way up onto the rickety porch, Velicity removed her sunhat and swung open the screen door. Inside, the elderly Rosa was waiting for her in the kitchen, two sparkling glasses of lemonade firmly placed in her hands. Velicity almost gasped when she saw the golden liquid dancing gracefully in the bright light streaming in through the open windows. She licked her lips and hurried over to Rosa.

Rosa extended her left arm outwards, offering the glass to Velicity. Velicity quickly took it in her hand, the drink cold to the touch. She sighed happily and raised the cool glass to her lips. The golden liquid slowly poured into her dry mouth, soothing it. It then rolled down her throat and made its way into her belly. She purred with delight. It tasted better than liquid gold.

"Tastes good, doesn't it?" Rosa asked, trying to make conversation with Velicity. Velicity blinked her dark eyes in response and lifted the glass to her lips once again. She didn't feel like uttering a word back.

"You know, when I was about your age, I loved lemonade. We had a lemon tree in our backyard that grew em' by the dozens. My sister and I used to go out on hot summer days just like this one and pick the ripe ones. We'd then go inside and squeeze em' till' all that pretty juice flowed out. My sister liked em' sour, but I always snuck a bit of sugar into mine," Rosa droned on. To be honest, Velicity wasn't even listening anymore. Rosa always talked about her childhood—a time before the rebellion. She always glorified it and made it sound like it was heaven on earth. Yet, Velicity knew the truth. Heaven only existed in the sky: Panem wasn't any better before the districts rebelled. No amount of glorification from Rosa or her short-sighted parents could change her mind.

"Do you have a lemon tree in your backyard?" Rosa asked her. Velicity only rolled her eyes and turned away from the elderly woman. _Can't she take the hint that I don't want to chat?_

A long pause followed the question. Velicity continued to sip her drink and listen to the sun's rays bake everything in their sight.

Rosa opened her mouth, trying again to start conversation. "So, how is Milla doing?"

Velicity stomped her foot on the ground, getting slightly aggravated. She obviously didn't want to chat with Rosa. _Why couldn't she just let me sip my lemonade in peace? We aren't friends, after all. I come here to make some money, not to talk my life away._

"Velicity, I asked you a question. You could at least answer it." Rosa suggested quietly. She never was really one to advocate for herself, and when she did, it was always weak.

She turned back towards Rosa, wanting desperately to be done with the one-sided conversation. Setting the now empty glass down on the table, she bunched her small hands into tight fists. "Well your questions are obnoxious," she responded through gritted teeth.

Rosa sighed, her old shoulders slumping. In the rickety wooden chair, the elderly woman looked weaker than ever. Her eyes were dull and her dark skin was saggy and littered with wrinkles. Her flowery dress, like the rest of the house, was faded and frayed. She looked exhausted, and Velicity felt a twinge of empathy for the old woman.

"Don't forget to water the lemon tree in the back," Rosa huffed tiredly. She had given up trying to crack Velicity's seemingly uncrackable shell.

Velicity cocked her head to the side, confused. _There was no lemon tree in the backyard._ Yet, before she could ask Rosa what she meant, the old woman had already slunk back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, making her appear to be asleep. Not wanting to wake her and have to start an entirely new conversation, Velicity slipped back outside in search of the tree.

The heat enveloped her as soon as she opened the door. Slightly curious, she made her way down the porch steps and around the side of the house to the backyard. There, to her surprise, was a wilting lemon tree.

Velicity gasped, staggering backwards a bit. She guessed the lemon tree had just been a figment of Rosa's imagination, a side effect of her aging mind. Yet, it really had existed.

The tree loomed in front of her like a ghost. Its long branches that once had probably been strong and sturdy sagged sadly. Small brown leaves grew at the tips of the branches, all of them appearing dry and crinkled in texture. The trunk of the tree looked weak, as if it was about to collapse. The tree, like everything else, looked sad and faded. Yet, it still stood, a memory from long ago.

Overwhelmed, she found her knees buckling under the suddenly heavy weight of her body. She needed to sit. Memories rushed back into her head: her family, the rebellion, the execution. She had pushed it aside for such a long time, but now, like a raging river, they all came flooding. Velicity had long believed they were gone, but in reality, they were just faded scars that had never really healed.

Looking down at her arm, she noticed it was bonier than ever. Dark bags hung under her eyelids displaying her tiredness. Her hands were calloused and her fingernails contained a thick layer of brown dirt. Tears streamed down her face.

Maybe she too, like everything else, was tired. Perhaps like her memories, she was just a faded scar that had never had the chance to heal.

* * *

 _Basil Anderson, 12._

The market was always quiet as the sun began to peak out from behind the orange groves. Everything was still, calm, and serene. The only noise that could be heard were the chattering of birds high above. It reminded him of lakes that were as still as glass. To most, the morning would be pleasing and relaxing. Yet to him, the morning was anything but. He would have given anything to disturb the peace and make ripples in the glass lake.

Basil was perched on a small stone, watching as various farmers began to file into the small square. All carried large wooden crates of produce in their arms. He recognized some from the orchard his father worked at, all carrying boxes of peaches. Once some had reached their stands, Basil sprung to his feet and hurried over to the stand closest to him.

"Hey!" He piped happily, his loud voice breaking the silence of the morning. The farmer glanced up, his dark eyes meeting Basil's own. He gave Basil a half-hearted smile and went back to sorting through his produce. Basil leaned over, arching his neck to see what the farmer had in his basket. From what he could see, the crates were filled with various bright shades, some yellow, some orange, others green. He couldn't quite make out what fruits the farmer was going to sell that day, yet they all looked quite ripe.

Basil opened his mouth to speak again. "Need any help?" He questioned. The farmer glanced up and shrugged his large shoulders before once again returning to his work.

"I guess," the farmer mumbled sleepily. "Help me sort the fruits into three baskets. I have lemons, limes and oranges. It shouldn't be too hard, you should know what they all look like."

Nodding his head quickly, Basil scrambled over to the other side of the stand. He crouched down, his dark skinned hands beginning to rummage through the fruits. He began to pick them apart, sorting the green fruits into one pile, the yellow fruits into a second, and the orange fruits into another. By the time he was done, the sun had already rose high into the sky and his brown skin was beginning to sizzle in its rays. He whipped a bead of sweat off his face before standing again.

"I'm done!" Basil chimed joyously. The farmer turned around the face Basil, looking quite pleased with his work. He grinned widely and placed the crates on the top of the stand.

"Thanks boy," the farmer trilled. He extended his large hand outwards towards Basil. Basil took it and shook it confidently.

"I wish there were more young boys like you who would help us out," the farmer continued. "For free too! It's quite nice of you to do it. Gives old farmers like us a break, ya' know?"

Basil grinned widely at the farmer, his white teeth sparkling in the light. "Thanks! But you should know I do charge a small fee. It's very small though, so you shouldn't have to worry. Only a couple of pennies."

The farmer's lips curled into a frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "You tell me this now?" He scoffed.

Basil nodded his head quickly, ignoring the man's angry reaction. He only smiled wider at the man, hoping his positive energy would radiate off him and somehow make the farmer happier. Yet, it only made him madder.

"You little scum!" He roared, pushing Basil away from his stand. Basil stumbled backwards and tripped over his own two feet. Hitting the ground with a loud thud, Basil's arm scratched against the rocky soil. Glistening red blood began to stream out of a large gash near his elbow. He felt tears well in his eyes, yet he didn't dare let them flow. _Stay positive, stay positive._

The farmer slammed his large boot down on Basil's chest. "Take this as a lesson, boy," he growled. "Tell people what they are getting before you go do it."

People were beginning to look. A small crowd had formed around Basil and the massive farmer, all of the attentive eyes curious to see what was going on. Almost nothing interesting happened in Eleven. This was people's entertainment for today and their gossip for tomorrow. Even though it was practically nothing, a little squabble between a boy and a man over a penny, it was all the people had. Some began to cheer as the farmer pressed his foot down harder on Basil's stomach.

"S- so- sorry," Basil stuttered, attempting to wriggle out from under the farmer's weight. Yet, he was unsuccessful and didn't even end up moving an inch. "I was just trying to feed my family."

Then, the farmer let go. He stepped back and freed Basil from under his grasp. Basil glanced upwards, meeting the farmer's now soft gaze. Even though the farmer didn't respond, Basil knew what he was saying. _He had a family. He needed to feed them too._

The farmer pushed though the small crowd with ease. Basil sprung to his feet, following the farmer close behind. However, he had a bit more trouble pushing through the mass of people crowded around him.

"Wait!" Basil yelped as he tore through the crowd after the farmer. After a few moments, his small body had finally broken through. He ran after the farmer.

The farmer turned around. "What is it Charlie?"

Basil pretended to ignore the farmer's slip. "I- I—you don't have to pay me. It's alright."

The farmer shook his head, raising his cupped hand. He dropped a few pennies into Basil's left hand. They shimmered in the sunlight like flecks of gold.

Basil blinked. "I said you didn't have to sir."

"But I want to."

"I don't need them though. It's okay. Plus, this is more then I asked for. You gave me four, I only really needed one."

Basil extended his hand outwards to give the money back to the farmer. He refused to take it.

"Buy something nice for your family," the farmer responded. "A treat for a sibling, or a nice gift for your parents. Treasure them, okay son? You won't know when they'll be gone."

Blinking again, Basil nodded his head quickly. Then, he noticed something about the man he hadn't noticed before. There was a cloudy look in his eyes, a look that suggested he had lost someone close to him. Maybe Basil's judgement had been wrong before. Maybe the man had _once_ had a family. Perhaps he had _once_ needed to feed them too.

The man all of a sudden looked lonely. His wrinkles became more visible to Basil. His dark hair appeared grayer.

Then, as if it were instinctive, Basil enveloped the man in a warm hug. "It's okay, you can be my family. You don't have to be lonely anymore."

The once angry farmer did something Basil though he would never see him do: sob.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Look out for another chapter later today!**

 **Any guesses on what happened to Velicity's family? Which tribute do you like more? Which will make it further?**

 **Best wishes,**

 **paper :)**


	13. District 6 Intros: And it Rains

_District Six Introductions: And it Rains_

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16._

* * *

"I'm going to go hang out with Arial! Be back in a few hours!" Raleigh shouted as he made his way towards the door. He spared a passing glance at the coatrack, but decided against putting a coat on. Although it had been a bit chilly outside the past few days, it was May. May was supposed to be full of warm sun and gentle breezes that ruffled a person's hair ever so slightly. It wasn't supposed to be filled with endless rain like it was that year. So, even though he would have probably needed a coat, he decided against it—because it was indeed May.

Just before he opened the door, a feminine voice called his name. "Raleigh! Raleigh!" It rang through the decent sized house.

Raleigh stopped abruptly, turning halfway round to face his mother, Karina. Her long brown hair ran down her back as she hurried towards him. Her blue eyes reflected worry.

"Wait!" She yelped, her voice shrill. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere," Raleigh responded plainly. Even though he and his mother were close, she didn't need to know everything about him, including his location at all times. Sometimes it was just too much.

Karina placed her hands on her hips. "And somewhere is?" She questioned, her green eyes interlocked with his.

Raleigh rolled his dark blue eyes, turning back towards the door. "The train yard. What is it to you?"

His mother huffed, taking a few steps towards him. She extended her arm out and gently placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "I just care Raleigh. I don't want you getting into trouble like you did a few weeks ago. Those authorities—uh—I can't remember what they are called—"

"Peacekeepers."

"Oh yeah," his mother remembered, smiling slightly. "Anyways, I don't want them bringing you home again. Bad things happen if they catch you too many times. Just be safe, okay?"

Lifting his hand to take his mother's off his shoulder, he turned back around to face her. "I will be," he replied.

"Promise?" She asked him, her eyes wide.

"Promise," he assured.

She smiled as Raleigh turned towards the door. He twisted the wooden knob open with a soft grunt and stepped outside. Yet, before he could get any father, his mother ushered him back in.

"You can't leave without a coat! You might catch a cold!" She chattered, rushing over to the coatrack he had been glancing at a few minutes before. His mother grabbed a coat off of it and handed it to Raleigh. The boy took it reluctantly in his arms before slipping it on.

"Am I good now? All checked? Do I need a scarf too, Mom? Or maybe even some wool socks? Or I know—some mittens!" He chuckled sarcastically.

It was now his mother who was rolling her eyes. "Fine, you proved your point Raleigh. I'll let you be."

He chuckled before exiting the house. Yet, before he could shut the door behind him, his mother's voice rang through his ears once again.

"Don't do anything stupid!" She called after him. Raleigh only shut the door in response, done with his mother's overbearingness. Still, he knew it was his mother's way of showing her love.

Raleigh trotted over to the side of their house, pulling out a bicycle from a large bush. It had been a present for his fifteen birthday—an expensive one at that. Although his family was on the wealthier side, it had still taken them a few months to save up for this beauty. Right now it was soaked with water, the pretty leather seat more than just damp. He pressed down on the wheels lightly to make sure they were still full of air before placing it down on the ground. He then hoped on and took off towards Arial's house.

It was a ten minute ride. The rain began to soak his clothes, and he was instantly grateful his mother had made him wear the jacket. It was at least keeping him slightly dry. When he reached Arial's house, he placed his bike on the side of the road and ran up to the door. He knocked on it loudly and waited for a few minutes. The rain only came down harder.

Eventually the cream colored door swung open. A heavy woman opened it and gave him a large grin.

"Raleigh, how nice to see you," she chimed.

"Nice to see you too Mrs. Rhoads. Is Arial home today?" Raleigh asked politely.

"Yes, yes. I'll get him in a minute, he's in the kitchen. Would you like to come in?" Mrs. Rhoads questioned, stepping out of the way to make room if he wanted to enter.

Raleigh shook his head in response. "Thank you, but I'm fine."

Mrs. Rhoads nodded her head, turning away from him. "Arial, get you butt down here! Raleigh is waiting so patiently in the rain for you! Do you want him to get soaked? Do you want him to get a cold? Do you want him to die out there?" She screeched into the house.

"Actually I'm f-"

"No, no dear," the woman replied. "If I don't tell him that, we will be waiting a day."

Raleigh smirked as Arial came sprinting towards the door. Arial huffed and puffed loudly as he came to stand beside his mother. He glanced at Raleigh with terrified eyes before scowling back at his mother.

"He's not dying!" He yelled back at his mother. "I could have finished eating my sandwich!"

His mother brushed him off, shoving him out the door and into the rain. "Oops, my bad," she sarcastically apologized before shutting the door on the both of them.

Arial kicked the dirt before angrily stomping to go retrieve his bicycle. "I hate my mother," he grumbled under his breath, just loud enough so Raleigh could hear."

Raleigh chuckled, running across the yard to go pick up his bicycle. "Really? The woman that feeds you and loves you?"

"Yeah," Arial pouted as he dragged his bike over to the road.

"Do you hate her as much as Jennah?" Raleigh giggled, raising an eyebrow playfully at his friend.

Arial blushed, pushing his friend away with a playful shove. "As much as you hate Mitsubishi."

Now Raleigh felt himself blushing. He hoped onto his bike and began to ride, listening as the wheels of Arial's bike followed behind his. The two of them had been friends since he could remember. They shared everything, including their secrets, their fears, and now, who they liked.

It was pouring by the time they reached the train yard. In the mists, the silhouettes of black trains lined up in rows were barely visible. He glanced around at the tracks that seemed to stretch on for miles in every direction. Smiling, he jumped off his bike and glanced back towards Arial.

"Here we are! Kingdom of trains, long forgotten by the Capitol. Why? No one knows. Perhaps they had one light that didn't work or a seat that wasn't comfy enough!" Raleigh boomed, making elaborate hand motions to accompany his words. By the time he was finished, he couldn't stop himself from giggling.

Arial giggled, hopping off his bike. Save for the pitter pattering of the rain, the place was silent. It was eerie almost, as every other place in the district was so cramped and crowded. Everywhere was always so loud, but here, everything was quiet. It was like a graveyard.

Padding across the tracks, him and his friend reached a long silver train with a face like a bullet. With all his might, Raleigh leapt up onto the side of the train where a rusty ladder hung. He scrambled up the ladder and onto the roof of the train. Arial followed behind him reluctantly.

"Is this safe?" Arial questioned quietly as he climbed the ladder. His pudgy arms shook slightly but he continued to climb.

Raleigh shook his head in response. "What do you think?"

"No," his friend responded with a voice as quiet as a mouse.

"Exactly! That's what makes it so fun!"

The rain only came down harder. He shivered and realized a little bit of him had wished he had brought those mittens.

* * *

 _Tesserae Bird, 15._

Through the rain, she stared at the house she had once lived in. Its bright yellow wooden exterior had been painted over years ago, after her mother and father had left. Or rather, had been forced out against their will by Capitol soldiers. It now boasted dark grey wooden panels with a black door. It was as if a cloud of evil had swallowed the once bright and cheery house.

"Tesserae," a soft voice cooed. "Tesserae," it repeated, attempting to shake her out of her stupor.

Tesserae blinked her big brown eyes and turned away from the house. "Mother?" She asked, her voice drowned out by the pounding rain. She turned around in circles, looking desperately for her mother—or anyone really, but no one was in sight. The voice was just her imagination again. Her mother was long gone.

Sighing, she pried her eyes away from the house and continued walking. Eventually she reached a large government building with tall columns and wide stairs. It stood out among the small houses that surrounded it. Tesserae made her way up the steps and through the double doors.

A secretary sat at a desk in the middle of the room. The bell didn't even need to ring to let the secretary know that Tesserae had entered. The foul stench emanating off of the young girl was enough to catch the secretary's attention.

"You again," the secretary grumbled, pinching her nose with her two fat fingers. "I expect you are here to collect your tesserae?"

"Mhm," Tesserae nodded, striding up to the desk. "But I have one question."

The secretary rolled her eyes before looking back down at Tesserae again. "Ask away."

"Is it possible for me to take more tesserae? I mean, I know you can only take one per person in your family, and I'm the only one, but since we are such good friends I was wondering if you would let me take more."

The secretary's jaw dropped. She sat up straighter in her chair and narrowed her eyes at the young girl. "We aren't good friends, I don't even know you trash girl. Plus, that is breaking the rules. You could get killed. Are you stupid?" She blurted out, her tone harsh.

Tesserae laughed. "Very stupid," she chuckled, placing a hand on her dirt coated hair. The woman behind the counter flinched.

"I expected so. Only an idiot would ask to increase their chances at death. You would increase your chances at getting reaped. Which would mean—"

The secretary paused midsentence, a sly smile growing on her face. She placed her hands on her lap and softened her gaze. "—you wouldn't come here anymore, and I wouldn't have to smell your foul stench every month."

Tesserae nodded her head. "That's right!" She chimed, stepping closer to the woman. The woman wrinkled her face in disgust.

"Stay—stay right there. Don't come any closer. I'll get you some tesserae. Is ten enough for this month?" The woman asked, standing from her seat and backing away towards a door behind the desk.

Tesserae nodded her head rapidly. "Perfect!" She exclaimed.

The secretary disappeared behind a door, humming happily. Within a few minutes, the secretary had returned with a cart of grains and oil. Tesserae only grinned wider.

"Take it—take it all. Oh, and please, when you sell that, go use that money to buy soap. You really need it."

Tesserae giggled, running towards the cart full of food and oil. _Perfect, everything was going perfect. And the dumb secretary didn't even expect a thing! She thought she was going to sell these—what an idoit._

 _"_ I sure will!" Tesserae chortled as she took the cart and hurried out of the building. By the time she had slowly made her way down the steps, the sun was beginning to slink behind the rows of houses and factories in the distance. She started down the street towards the slums, humming the same tune the secretary was humming as she fetched Tesserae all the illegal goods.

After a few hours of walking, Tesserae had reached the slums. The rain was still cascading down from the sky and her ratty clothes were now soaked. Still, it was worth it. _In the end, it would be worth it._

Tesserae looked ahead at her first receiver's house. It had been a friend of her mother's, a fellow rebel who'd had her husband killed in the rebellion. The capitol had let her live, but had made her pay by cutting off her hands. Now, she couldn't even work a basic job building hovercrafts in the factories. Her mother's old friend was forever confined to a life of poverty.

The young girl strode up to the door, placing a bag of grain in front of it. She didn't leave a note, that wouldn't be what her mother would have wanted. She wanted it to be anonymous.

She continued to go up to houses of the poor, placing a bag of grain or a bucket of oil in front of the doorstep. Eventually, Tesserae's cart was empty, save for one small bag of grain.

Tesserae contemplated taking it for herself. She was hungry, her stomach had been rumbling since before noon. Yet, her mother's words rang through her head. "To be a rebel, you must be selfless. You must think of others first and not yourself. Rebels do things for the good of the people, not for the good of themselves."

With a huff, she lifted the final bag from the cart. Her arms trembled as she carried it to the final house. She plopped it down on the doorstep. Her stomach rumbled, breaking the eerie silence of the night.

Sometimes, she wished she could eat. Tesserae wished she could be like other children who had loving parents who were still alive. She wanted to know there would always be a meal for her when she came home or a roof over her head. Yet, that was not the life for her. No matter how hard she wished, her dreams never came true.

It was cold in the rain. She shivered, abandoning the cart to go find shelter. It was nights like these that made her the most upset.

However, deep down, she knew that someday it would be worth it. _It would all be worth it. She would be everything her mother wanted her to be and more. She would be a rebel. She would break the system. She would defy the capitol. She'd live her mother's dream. She'd get to accomplish everything her mother hadn't. She'd give back to the people who had everything stripped from them by the evil capitol. There would be consequences, but it would be worth it. It would all be worth it._

When she woke up, the sun shone for the first time in a week.

* * *

 **A/N: I banged out two chapters in one day! Wow, I surprised myself! Didn't think I could do it. But I did!**

 **Some questions now.**

 **Any guesses to my Tesserae's name is Tesserae? What did Raleigh do that made his mother so worried? And of course, who will outlive the other? Because of course, this is the Hunger Games.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. They are awesome! If you have the time, I love to see them, but if you don't, I still hope you enjoyed the read.**

 **Adios,**

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	14. District 1 Intros: Owe it to You

_District One Introductions: Owe it to You_

* * *

 _Kaeleah Gloriana Stonegate, 16._

* * *

She was like a porcelain doll. Her skin was soft and clear. A few freckles lined her cheeks and nose, yet they only added to her beauty. Kaeleah's hair was soft and silky, coming to just below her shoulders. It was a golden blonde hue and glistened in the light like flecks of stardust. Her eyes were round and blue like diamonds. They too sparkled. She was skinny, but not too skinny. She was seemingly a perfect doll. _Seemingly._

To others, perhaps, she was perfect. Many envied her beauty and poise. They craved to be like her, wanting everything she had. However, they only glimpsed the surface of her life. They could never imagine what lay beneath the surface of her clear skin and her seemingly perfect life. All that glitters is not truly gold.

She wore loads of makeup to hide the dark bruises that lined her cheeks and face. She put eye drops into her dull eyes to add a bit of sparkle to them. Kaeleah loaded gel into her hair to give it that extra shine. If only they could see what was on the inside, then maybe they wouldn't be so jealous. If anything, they'd feel sorry.

Kaeleah prodded at her unappetizing breakfast of overcooked eggs sleepily. Her father had never been the best cook, but her and her mother had always been too afraid to say something. He had hit them over smaller things.

"You aren't going to eat that Kaeleah?" Her father asked, his tone sharp. Kaeleah raised her head, her eyes meeting her father's piercing gaze. She shivered and twisted her lips into a fake grin like she had been taught to do.

"No, they were just too hot. I was waiting for them to cool down," she lied. If anything, the eggs were getting cold.

"Good. For a second I thought you didn't like the meal your dear father made you. You know, if I didn't work, you wouldn't have a meal to eat at all?"

Kaeleah averted her eyes from his controlling gaze, picking up a burnt egg with her fork and shoveling it into her mouth. She hid a wince as she chewed it and swallowed it. It tasted absolutely disgusting, but she would never tell her father that. _She was too afraid to know what would happen if she spoke up for herself._

Her father smiled and continued to eat his own breakfast. Kaeleah glanced over at her mother, Polina, who was also holding back a gag. She too was obediently shoving the black eggs into her mouth. The two made eye contact for a split second, but Polina quickly looked back down at her breakfast.

Then, out of nowhere, her father slammed his fists down on the small table. Her plate flew into the air and clattered to the ground. It smashed into a million tiny pieces, all scattered about the chipping wooden floor. "Dammit Kaeleah! If it weren't for you we wouldn't be in this mess! I hate eggs, but it's all we can afford! Because of you! Sometimes I wish I just killed you when I had the chance, you little—"

Kaeleah and her mother simultaneously gulped. Kaeleah tried to stand, but found that her body was glued to the chair. Attempting to lift her arms, she discovered they were frozen in ice. Her blue eyes widened as his father stomped towards her.

Then, a rough hand smacked her cheek. Hot to the touch, her left cheek now blazed with a searing pain. She winced, but did not dare cry. If she let the tears flow another smack to the cheek would surely ensue. Kaeleah looked to her mother for help, but her mother was also glued to the chair, her eyes as wide as Kaeleah's.

"That's what you get, you ungrateful daughter! You made me broke! You made me poor! I shouldn't have never paid for your stupid cancer treatment! You owe me your life and this is how you repay me! By hating the food I spend the time cooking!" He wailed at the top of his lungs. She felt her cheek blaze yet again with pain as his hand collided with her soft skin.

After a few more slaps, her father was done with his fit. He returned to his seat as if nothing had happened. Her mother's shoulders relaxed slightly but her body still trembled. Kaeleah continued to eat the eggs like an obedient daughter should. After she was done, she brought her plate to the sink and began to scrub it clean.

"Kaeleah, how is your training going?" Her mother asked softly. Kaeleah turned around, slightly surprised. It was the first time her mother had spoken all day.

Her father grumbled, stabbing his fork into the wooden table with a violent shove. "Great," he growled through gritted teeth, not giving his daughter a chance to even respond. "Right Kaeleah?"

Kaeleah nodded her head mutely, gliding over to the other side of the room. There was a reason her father didn't give her the chance to respond. Although he didn't like to believe it, Kaeleah's training wasn't all going to plan. Her best friend received a higher score then her on her last assessment and was going to be picked to volunteer if Kaeleah didn't improve. Her father's plan at regaining riches was falling down the drain, and there was nothing to do to stop it. _Well, there was one thing._

Kaeleah shuttered at the thought, moving towards the door coated in chipping paint. "I'm leaving now father. Thank you for breakfast, it was lovely," she chimed. Then she gave him another fake grin. Her pearly white teeth hid all the lies that lay inside.

"Wait!" Her father shouted, leaping from his seat and dashing over to Kaeleah. "Don't forget to give your dear old father a hug!"

She gulped, slightly confused. Her father never showed his affection unless they were in the public eye. She took a deep breath before wrapping her arms around his torso. He did the same, wrapping his bulky arms around her delicate frame. After a few seconds, she tried to pull away, but her father only pulled her closer. Attempting to wriggle out from his grasp, she leaned backwards. Yet, her father only clinged to her harder, tightening his grip around her waist.

"Father, I think that's eno—"

"I'll tell you when enough is enough," he snapped harshly.

She whimpered softly and stayed in her position. Her stomach was beginning to hurt from the immense pressure her father was putting on it. Yet, she didn't dare move. She didn't dare rebel from the dictator that watched over her like a hawk.

Then, her father craned his neck and moved his mouth towards her ear. "You better beat that damned girl or you won't have a meal tonight," he threatened.

Kaeleah gulped and her father tightened his grip even more. She could barely breathe. "Who was the person that saved you?"

"You," she whimpered weakly.

"Who do you owe your life to?" He asked her.

"You," she choked out, silver tears welling in her eyes.

Then, he released his grip. Kaeleah gasped and staggered back towards the door. She quickly opened it and dashed out, not daring to look back.

If she won her match today, she'd surely get killed in the games. But if she lost, her father would kill her anyways.

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18._

 _The sound of gunshots rang through his ears. Planes roared overhead, dropping bombs on unsuspecting citizens. The glass from the front window of his house lay scattered on the ground, small, sharp shards glittering with red blood. Outside, a violent war raged._

 _"Where is daddy?" Eris asked, his light brown eyes wide with fear. His mother glanced down at him and gave him a reassuring pat on the head._

 _"Don't worry, he's safe," his mother cooed. "He's the general, his soldiers won't let anything bad happen to him."_

 _Eris blinked his eyes, making his way over towards the bolted door. At eight years old, he was a very curious child. He always wondered what was going on outside the thick walls of his house where he was safe, yet he didn't dare venture outside. A little part of him knew that what was going on outside wasn't good. He knew that people were dying—and he didn't like that one bit._

 _"Are the good guys winning?" Eris asked curiously._

 _His mother nodded her head, giving Eris a wide smile. She made her way over to the door, peering through a small hole just above Eris's head. Yet, when she retracted her head and looked down at Eris, she no longer looked confident._

 _"Eris, do you know how to use a gun?" She questioned her son, giving him a weak smile._

 _Eris stuttered, fearing what was going to happen next. He knew by the look on his face that the good guys were no longer winning. "Like the soldiers on TV, right?"_

 _"Just like them," his mother grinned, beginning to unlock the many locks that lined the door. "Now, I need you to be just like those soldiers on TV. The Capitol is losing, and if they lose—well—bad things can happen. You need to do this. Go out there and make Momma proud, alright? The first dead man you see, take his gun and fight with it."_

 _Before Eris could protest, he found himself enveloped in a tight hug and shoved out the door. His mother wasn't so blinded by her love for the Capitol she'd sacrifice her only son._

 _He was now in the battlefield. Bullets flew in all directions; big planes soared overhead. He was absolutely terrified. Yet, he needed to make his parents proud. He needed to fight and help them win._

 _So, crawling on all fours, he made his way over to a limp man in a pool of red liquid. The man looked to be about middle aged, and was dressed in blue and red: rebel colors. If it weren't for the dull look in his eyes, Eris would have assumed he was just sleeping. Yet he knew better. Everyone who slept in war ended up dead._

 _He spotted a black pistol in the dead soldier's hand. With all his might, he pried the gun out of the man's cold and dead hands. Eris then made his way towards where the gunshots were loudest, the town center of One._

 _However, before he could reach the front, he spotted two people he recognized. More than recognized—the two people were his friends. Rean and Aliston were their names. They were cornered against a building, a two rebel soldiers holding them at gunpoint. Eris loaded his gun and lifted his finger to the trigger._

 _Yet, before he could press the trigger, he saw Rean's eyes widen. One of the rebels turned around to face him, bloodlust in his eyes. Rean only mouthed one word: run._

 _And so Eris ran. He ran and ran until the sound of gunshots no longer rang in his ears. When he reached his house again, his mother stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. A look of disappointment crossed her face._

 _"You coward!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs. "You ran away! You are nothing like me, or your father—or anyone who supports the Capitol! Get of my sight now, you good for nothing son!"_

"Eris! Are you there buddy?" Moriah, his best friend, shouted, waking him from his stupor.

Eris blinked his light brown eyes, returning to reality. He was no longer in the middle of a war zone. Instead, he was staring ahead blankly at the grave of his long dead friend, Rean. On it said his name, Rean Ruby, and his date of death, 1 AR. Inscribed at the bottom of the grave were the words: Died bravely in a fight to keep Panem free. _That should have been me. I should have died bravely in a fight to keep Panem free. Instead I am a coward who killed him. I'm the reason he's dead. I could have saved him._

"I'm there," Eris responded, giving his friend a weak smile.

"Good," Moriah responded, rolling her eyes at him playfully. "I thought you were possessed by a ghost for a second."

He chuckled, lunging towards Moriah. She tried to duck out of the way, but he was too quick for her. Eris grabbed her shoulders with a tight grip, shaking her back and forth. "Actually, I am possessed!" He shouted in his best ghost voice.

She giggled as he released her. "Come on, let's get out of here. This graveyard always gives me the creeps."

Eris grinned before looking back at the grave one last time. _The next time I see you Rean, I'll have accomplished your dream. I'll have gone to the capitol like you always wanted to do. I'll do everything you have ever aspired to do and more._

"Race you to my house?" Eris asked, his brown eyes coming to life once again. Moriah nodded enthusiastically, getting in a starting position. She began to count.

"Three, two—"

Moriah dashed off before she even counted to one, weaving between the gravestones. Eris sprinted after her, his long legs quickly making up for all the time he had lost. At six feet tall, he had long legs and normally beat people in races, especially the short legged Moriah.

By the time they exited the graveyard, Eris had put all his dead friends and relatives behind them. Even though he always had them in his mind, they were now shifted to his subconscious. Despite all his guilt, he knew he needed to put the past behind him and live life to the fullest.

Eventually, Eris and Moriah reached his grandmother's house. Eris beat Moriah by a decent amount despite her early start.

"I told you, cheaters never win!" Eris exclaimed as he watched Moriah sprint onto his grandmother's green lawn.

Moriah stuck her tongue out at him and giggled. "Then how are you ever going to win the games?"

"By playing fairly of course! I have been training for like a year! I can win without cheating, thank-you-very-much."

Moriah laughed and plopped herself down on the grass. Eris did the same, going to sit right beside her.

"You know, I've never asked you why you are volunteering. I mean—I know you are strong and all, but why? You could die."

Eris opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He thought about telling her how he needed to live out the dreams of all those that had died because of him—his father, Rean, and Aliston. Eris considered telling her about wanting to do something great and prove himself to his mother. He pondered whether or not to tell Moriah about how he wanted to do it to give his grandmother a better life after she had done so much for him. Yet, none of this came out. "I want to finish something," was all he managed to say.

Moriah nodded her head, her eyes going cloudy for a second. "Well—I hope you finish this Eris."

 _He would. He needed to. After all, he owed it to all of them._

* * *

 **A/N: Yay, only one more to go, then it's the reaping recap! So pumped to move closer to the games!**

 **I don't really have a lot to say today, but who did you like more? Who will make further? Do you think these two tributes will be strong additions to the career pack this year? How do you think they are going to get along with Lena and Alaric (our other two careers).**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **paper :)**


	15. District 10 Intros: Free Falling

_District Ten Introductions: Free Falling_

* * *

 _Chance Marrow, 17._

* * *

A warm wind rippled through Chance's dark brown hair, ruffling it. The spring day was a nice one, the sun was shining bright and not a cloud lingered in the sky. The air was warm, but not too warm. Chance smiled and breathed in the fresh air.

Chance glanced around at the various cows grazing on the pasture. Today he had been assigned the job of bringing them out to one of the ranch's far fields, as the cow's normal grazing field was growing rather space. This field did not have a wooden fence surrounding its exterior, so Chance had brought his lasso with him to catch any cows that may have gone astray.

He sighed, weaving through the endless rows of black and white cows. He hated watching the cows graze—it was one of the most boring jobs on the ranch to him. Chance would much rather be doing something with his hands or tending to the animals, but instead he had to be a bystander and watch the cows eat all day.

With that thought, he felt his stomach rumble. The sun was almost at its pinnacle in the placid blue sky. When it reached the top, another farmhand would come and trade positions with him. Impatient, he began to tap his foot on the grassy ground. Imagining the delectable sandwich that would be waiting for him when he returned to the house only made time go by slower.

Within a few minutes, another farmhand had arrived at the field. Chance gave him a quick wave and ran off back to the house as soon as he was able. It was a few minutes' walk—yet he kept his pace brisk so he'd arrive faster.

Eventually, he arrived at the house. From the moment he stepped inside, he could smell the meat cooking in the oven.

"Hey Ma," Chance chimed as he strode into the kitchen.

His mother jumped in place, startled by Chance's sudden entrance. "Chance! You scared me!" She yelped.

Chance chuckled, gliding over to his mother to envelop her in a hug. "Sorry Ma. Is lunch ready yet?"

His mother laughed, handing him a sandwich wrapped in a small ragged cloth. "Always thinking about food," she joked lovingly.

"I'm still growing!" Chance protested, standing on the tips of his toes. Although he was tall, standing at just around six feet, his father was taller. All the other boys in District Ten had grown to be about their father's height, so he expected he would too.

His mother chuckled, going back to her work in the kitchen. "I'm just kidding with you son."

Chance smiled, turning around to exit the kitchen and head into the dining room. He rounded the corner quickly, not noticing another body was rounding the same corner at the same time. The two bodies collided with a thud, both falling to the ground with a loud clattering noise. Chance's sandwich flew out of his hand and landed a few feet away from him.

"Hey—watch where you are going!" A familiar voice growled. Chance glanced ahead, spotting a familiar face. Ira, his best friend, lay sprawled out on the other side of the room. One of his hands clutched his head and he winced in pain.

"Ira!" Chance yelped, scrambling to the other side of the room where his friend lay. He completely forgot about his sandwich as he crawled to Ira's aid.

Ira grumbled, getting himself into a sitting position. "I should have known it was you Chance."

Chance chuckled, inching closer to Ira. They were now only a few inches apart, their eyes interlocked. Ira's eyes, like Chance's, were a light shade of brown, the color of faded leather or a patch of dry dirt. It was as if their eyes were a pair that were meant to go together. Chance leaned forwards, pressing his dry lips against Ira's.

Ira yowled, pushing Chance away with a forceful shove. "Not here you idoit! Someone might see!"

Chance rolled his eyes, going to retrieve his sandwich. Sometimes Ira could just be so—neurotic. The only people inside the house besides them were his parents. And they already knew Chance and Ira's precious secret.

He stood to his feet, brushing the dirt from his faded blue jeans. Although he worked on a ranch and was bound to get dirty, he always liked to keep himself somewhat clean. He couldn't stand the feeling of dirt under his finger nails or smelly sweat clinging to his skin.

"Here, I'll help you up," Chance offered as he glided across the room towards Ira. On the floor, his secret boyfriend was still pouting that there was like a two percent chance Chance gave up their secret.

"No!" Ira yelped, scrambling backwards into a wall. "Don't come near me! Someone might suspect something if we even touch!"

Chance rolled his eyes again. Ira could be so ridiculous sometimes. "No one is even going to see. Just let me help you up—it's the nice thing to do."

"I don't care about the nice thing to do!" Ira retorted. "What if someone sees? What if they spread the word? You and I both know that everyone in District Ten doesn't approve of people like us. Remember what happened to Leather and Kiani? You better, because they do!"

Chance blinked, his gaze softening. "Fine, you win. I'll leave you be on the ground. But why are we even dating if I can't even be near you in my own home?"

Ira huffed, glancing away. To be honest, neither had the answer to Chance's question. _Still, Ira had a point. Not everyone would accept them for who they were if they made it public. And they couldn't take chances if they didn't want that to happen._

He sighed, turning out of the room and abandoning Ira on the ground. Chance was going to ask him if he wanted to each lunch with him out on one of the empty grazing fields, like they used to do before they were _dating,_ but he decided against it. Ira would probably freak out and say that someone would see them.

Sometimes he wished he could be normal and just like girls. Walking outside, the air still was as warm as it had been before he had entered the house, yet something was different. The air seemed sticker and carried a foul stench, almost like the smell of horse dung.

It didn't matter if he wanted to be normal like most of the other kids in District Ten. Love had chosen him, and he couldn't do anything about it.

* * *

 _Marena Combe, 17._

Glancing out the window of her friend Haley's house, Marena noticed the sun beginning to slink behind the endless grass fields. It was a hot summer day—and even in the house, the air was sticky and humid. Silver sweat beaded along her face and body. She huffed, turning back to the closed door in front of her.

"Hurry up Thomas!" Marena exclaimed as she banged on the wooden door to his room. Haley, her best friend, stood behind her, chuckling to herself. "Daylight is burning! We only have a few hours to complete my amazingly fun plan!"

Thomas swung open the door with a large grimace plastered on his pale face. He leaned on the side of the doorway, his large body towering over Marena. Although Marena was tall, standing at around 5'8", Thomas was taller. "And what might that _amazingly fun_ plan be?" He grumbled.

Marena giggled and rolled her hazel eyes at him and turned back to Haley. "Should we tell him or keep it a secret?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. Haley nodded her head mutely in response.

Turning back towards Thomas with a massive grin, Marena clapped her hands together happily. "Well—I was thinking we could go out to that field on Yarrow's ranch where the bulls always graze."

"What field?" Thomas questioned, placing his hands on his hips. He did not look amused.

"You know, _the_ field with the bulls. It's on the outskirts of town, by the smokehouses. You have lived here your whole life, you should know!" Marena responded.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders, his brown eyes sparkling in the dim light of the evening. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"It's because you're an idoit," Haley piped in. "Everyone who is anyone knows about the field."

Stepping backwards into his room, Thomas rolled his eyes. "Then I guess I'm no one." He retorted as he began to shut the door.

Yelping, Marena lunged forwards and grabbed his bony arm. With a strong grip, she pulled him back into the hallway. "You haven't listened to the entire plan."

"I don't need to," Thomas said plainly. "From what I know about you, it's going to be dangerous, stupid, impulsive, and will ultimately fail. Your dumb plans always do. Last time it was cow tipping, and what now? Are you going to jump off a cliff and expect me to follow like an obedient servant? When are you ever going to learn you aren't invincible?"

With that, Thomas slammed the door on the two girls. Marena scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. _He was just being stupid, her plans always worked._ _They were always fun too. When was the last time he had fun? Never._ She then turned back Haley. "Your brother is a real worrywart."

She raised an eyebrow. "You thought I didn't know that? I've been living with him for seventeen years!" Haley exclaimed, throwing her arms up into the air. The two girls then broke into a loud fit of laughter.

"Come on, it will be more fun without him," Marena chimed, grabbing Haley's arm and pulling her down the hallway. Haley stumbled after Marena, eventually regaining her footing by the time they reached the front door. With a strong shove, Marena pushed open the door and ran out into the humid evening.

The girls walked along the dirt road for a few minutes, chattering about nonsense. Most of it was about which boys they thought were cute, though some of it was about the current things they were doing on their family ranches. After a few minutes of walking, Marena heard a shrill voice screaming after them.

"Wait! Wait!" The voice shrieked as it grew closer. Marena turned around, surprised to see Thomas stumbling after them. He was waving his hands in the air and screaming at the top of his lungs like a complete fool.

"What, did you have second thoughts on my _dangerous, stupid, impulsive, and doomed to fail plan?"_ Marena questioned, putting a heavy emphasis on the last few words.

Huffing, Thomas eventually caught up to them. "No—I just wanted to make sure you two didn't kill yourselves. I'm not a big brother for nothing." He responded through his constant huffing and puffing. For working on the ranch all day, he was in poor shape. Marena smirked at the thought.

"I don't need any looking after from my big brother! I'm seventeen now Thomas! I'm no baby!" Haley exclaimed, her lips curving into a frown. She gave him an angry shove as he approached.

Marena sighed deeply. "Hey! No need to fight Haley, the more the merrier. He will be able to witness our amazing plan that surely won't fail, right?"

"Right," she muttered, although she didn't look convinced. For the rest of the walk, her arms remained crossed over her chest and her feet seemed to drag a bit more than they had before. Marena understood Haley's frustration. She too had two older brothers, both of whom were 21. For a while, all they had seen her as was a defenseless little sister who constantly needed to be looked after. She hated how they constantly followed her around and watched her like a hawk. Yet, nowadays, they were more busy with farm chores and didn't have as much time or energy to stalk her every move.

Within twenty minutes, the trio had reached the bull's grazing fields. A few bulls, possibly twenty, still roamed the field at the late hour. The sky was beginning to turn a vibrant shade of red as the sun slunk further behind the horizon line. They only had a few more minutes for light, this plan needed to work the first time.

"Okay," Marena began, her pale lips curving to a large grin. "I need your help finding the largest bull you can. Oh, and the angrier the better!"

Thomas's jaw hung open. "Are you saying you want to ride an angry bull?" He gawked.

"Yep."

"Why did I come? Why didn't I stay home? I'm going to get blamed for this, Mom's going to kill me," Marena heard him mutter under his breath as he stalked off to go find the largest bull he could. Haley followed behind him, slightly more enthusiastic.

Marena hopped over the wooden fence and onto the grazing field. With narrowed eyes, she glanced around, trying to find the largest bull for herself. She spotted a large brown bull at the far left corner and sprinted off in that direction, determined to ride it before nightfall.

Yet, when she arrived, the bull didn't look as big as she'd thought it was from a distance. She went off to find another, but was interrupted by Haley's loud call.

"I found one!" Haley exclaimed. Marena jogged over and smiled wide.

"Perfect," she murmured as she admired the bull. It was one of the largest on the field, had big horns, and even looked angry. Chuckling, she prepared to mount herself.

Thomas's big brown eyes widened. "Wait Marena, don't you want to think thi—"

"Nope!" Marena cut him off as she leapt up onto the large bull. She landed on the top of the bull with a loud thudding noise and quickly grasped onto its horns. Kicking its side, the bull let out a grunt. It then reared and attempted to buck her off, yet she kept her strong grip on its horns.

"This is so much fun!" Marena exclaimed as she rode the bucking bull around the field. Haley giggled, skipping after her and the bull. Thomas didn't look as amused, standing with a hand grasped on his head. His head shook from side to side and she could see his lips moving as he muttered to himself quietly.

She didn't notice as the bull approached the fence. It soon collided with it and sent her flying high into the air. For a moment, everything was perfect. She was soaring high into the crimson sky without a care in the world. She flapped her arms up and down like a bird would if it were flying. She felt her breath quicken and her heart stop. It was amazing.

But then, everything stopped. She was no longer soaring—she was tumbling. The grassy ground grew nearer and nearer and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The soft ground felt like cement as her face smashed into it. The amazing feeling of flight was quickly replaced by a not-so-amazing feeling of pain.

Thomas's smug smile was the last thing she saw before the darkness of the night enveloped her and turned her vision to black.

* * *

 **A/N: Finally! We are done with the intros and can move onto more fun things like the games! Yay to completing this part of the story!**

 **Questions: Who did you like more, Chance or Marena? Who will make it further? Who are your top five tributes? Any least favorites? Any early winner predictions? Which tributes will be bloodbaths?**

 **I will put a poll up on my profile for your favorite tributes. You can vote for up to four, and if you vote for your own, please vote for others too. It will be up until the 9th, which leads me to my next thing.**

 **I'm going away to a place where I will not have access to FF from the 25th of June until the 11th of July. That means I will not be answering PMs or updating this story. Expect the next update to be around the 12th July or a little after. It will be the reaping recap. I do feel as if this chapter was a bit rushed, though I wanted to get it out before I go away this weekend.**

 **Thanks for sticking with this story. I really appreciate every single read, submission, and review. I hoped you enjoyed how I portrayed your tribute. If not, shoot me a PM and we can discuss. Constructive criticism is always loved.**

 **See you soon,**

 **paper :)**


	16. Reaping Recaps: One Nation, One Panem

_Reaping Recap: One Nation, One Panem_

* * *

 _Percival Ramsey, 48._

The evening after the lucky twenty four tributes had been reaped—or in special cases, had volunteered—Percival Ramsey stood outside Panem's startlingly white capitol building. The sky above him was a shade of raven black, only illuminated by the faint glow of the crescent shaped moon. The stars, which could be seen in the out districts with ease, were hidden in the black sea. Percival knew they were there, but their brightness did not hold a candle to the flickering lights of the capitol at night. The man-made lights were far brighter than the ones created by nature herself.

Around him, people with bright pinks wigs and eccentric outfits mulled about. Percival began to feel slightly claustrophobic. He estimated there were about 50,000 people in the Capitol's main square alone, and thousands more crowding the surrounding streets. Others were high up in luxurious penthouses, glued to their 100-inch television screens with anticipation. In a few minutes, the reaping recaps would air on national television for the entire nation to see.

But for now, a bright blue firework captured the anxious crowd's attention. All eyes drifted upwards as the celebration began. For this year's tenth anniversary, the capitol was sparing no expense. They would make even the most hesitant of capitol citizens rejoice in their victory over the districts. Yet, more importantly, they would make sure no district dweller would forget their loss over the mighty Capitol.

Percival found himself lost in the sea of flashing lights just as everyone else did.

* * *

 _Nikita Deimos, 61._

Up in a glittering penthouse with floors of gold, the bejeweled seal of District One lit up the television screen. The viewing party cheered loudly, their joyous voices filling the room to the brim. Here, two miles away and fifty-five stories higher from where Percival was standing, the mood was nothing short of happy.

When Nikita blinked, the screen once again changed. Now it displayed a sleek mahogany stage lined with golden trim. Banners hung from the town hall just behind the stage, each displaying the number ten in thick red letters.

"Do you think there will be uh—I uh—forget what they are called. The people who volunteer?" A hushed voice asked on the other side of the room.

"Careers I think?" Another voice asked.

"Yes, they are called the Careers—and possibly," another person, who she recognized as her daughter, answered. "I mean—there were rumors right? My magazine said more kids were training to volunteer because they wanted to become rich and famous."

Nikita snorted. She of all people knew what it was like to be rich and famous. She too, at one point, had thought a glittering penthouse with floors of gold would ensure her happiness. Yet, forty years later, the golden floors still felt cold to the touch and her heart just as empty as it was before. The only difference was she now had glittering amour to hide her woes behind.

Her attention returned to the screen as the pink haired escort retrieved a slip from the females' bowl. "And our lovely female tribute this year is—Sapphire Romina!"

Out of the fourteen year olds' section emerged a terrified girl with hair the color of the sky just outside her floor-to-ceiling windows. She began to hobble towards the stage, yet just before she could reach the stairs, another girl came sprinting forwards.

"I volunteer!"

Even through the television screen, Nikita could see that the girl was terrified. Yes, her voice did sound confident, but her body-language made her think otherwise. The volunteer's hands shook feverishly and she constantly looked back into the crowd, trying desperately to spot a face in the sea of people. It was as if she needed to be reassured that volunteering was the right decision.

The escort asked her what her name was. She answered Kaeleah Stonegate in a nervous manner. Once again, she searched for the face in the crowd; the needle in the haystack. Nikita felt it a bit odd. _Was she trying to impress somebody? Did someone force her into this? Did she ever really want to volunteer?_

Her questions remained unanswered as the escort moved on to the males' bowl. "Garnet Cooper!" He said as the slip of paper in his hand fluttered in the warm spring wind.

Before the boy reaped even had a chance to leave his section, another voice rang through the air. "I volunteer! I volunteer!" It confidently yelled.

The first thing Nikita noticed about the volunteer was that he was tall. His sandy blonde hair was swept to the side and when asked his name, he confidently responded that it was Eris.

"Well folks, give it up for your brave volunteers, Kaeleah Stonegate and Eris Valliano!" The escort cheered as the two volunteers shook hands.

 _Brave? She wouldn't call it brave. If anything, she'd call it dumb. After all, fame isn't all it's cracked up to be. She of all people knew that best._

* * *

 _Alivus Figorino, 43._

Thousands of feet above where the famous actress was grumbling to herself about the emptiness of fame, the stone-grey seal of Two filled Alivus Figorino's television screen. He squinted his eyes in a desperate attempt to see the stone stage on the tiny screen implanted in the seat in front of him.

Hours earlier, he had begged his boss to let him leave a day late. Reaping day was a national holiday after all—why must he work? The wood he was to inspect before it was sent off to the Capitol to be built into chairs and whatnot could surely wait another day. Yet, his boss had shooed him off to the airport without even considering his predicament.

Still, he was trying to make the best of his situation. Around him lay dozens of snacks and Hunger Games memorabilia which he normally surrounded himself with at him. His chair was comfy enough for an airplane. He had cheered along with others during the District One Reaping.

Taking a sushi-flavored chip out of the bag, he returned his eyes to the screen. There he watched as an escort dressed in fluorescent orange pulled a slip out of the females' bowl. She unfolded it and read the name aloud.

"China Black!"

A tall and lanky girl smiled as she strode out of the sixteen year old's section. Looking directly at the camera, she grinned widely, cherishing her two seconds of fame. For the past two years, District Two had had volunteers, this year was expected to be no different. A volunteer quickly took her place.

Leaning forwards, Alivus watched as the volunteer took to the stage. Despite not being able to see her well—the screen was only 60-inches, he could tell her hair was mangled and messy. Her green eyes were dull. She looked like she had resided in a dump for the past two years of her life. Other people even held their noses as she approached.

The escort held back a gag. In an odd voice, as he was holding his nose, he asked the volunteer for her name.

"Lena Evangelos," she replied. "And I volunteered to avenge the death of my friend, Quartz. I will win for her, or die trying."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Many recognized the name, as she was a volunteer last year. She had made it to the final eight before she was betrayed by her allies and killed in her sleep. The camera zoomed in on Elibus, last year's victor's face. He and Quartz had been good friends. He looked a bit sad, yet that could barely be seen behind his stone-faced expression.

"Well, I wish you good luck Lena," the escort smiled before moving over to the males' bowl. He dove his hand in and surfaced with a blank white slip. Unfolding it, he read off the name.

Alivus didn't bother listening to the name. It was unimportant. As predicted, someone volunteered. Out of the eighteen year olds' section strode a boy with pale skin and dark hair. From Alivus' low resolution screen, he could be mistaken for a ghost. He later learned his name was Alaric Pyre.

The volunteers shook hands and for a second, the screen turned to black.

If the sky wasn't dark, Alivus could look out his window and see the towns that made up one of Panem's largest districts. Too bad the sky was as black as his television screen.

* * *

 _Andromeda Fibonacci, 20._

Back in the Capitol, Andromeda sat on her plush couch, her arms curled around her new fiancée, Sultus. On their television screen, a man dressed in shades of green stood in front of a giant glass reaping ball. He dipped his wrinkly hand in and pulled out a white slip from the very top of the bowl.

"Sereina Ampere!" The man called, his voice hoarse. The camera zoomed in on a brown haired girl in the sixteen year old section. Her dark hazel eyes widened as her name was called. She gulped and began to shake.

"Sereina? Where are you Sereina?"

She began to move towards the stage very slowly. Her steps were short and jolty, and she looked afraid. When she made her way up to the stage, the escort dipped his hand into the males' bowl.

The escort unfolded the slip and blinked at in in confusion. Murmurs whipped through the crowd as the escort's confused look only grew bigger.

"What's going on?" Andromeda questioned, cocking her head to the side. Sultus shrugged.

"Gadget—"

He paused, glancing to the mayor before continuing. "—and Gizmo McGhee."

The entire crowd turned to the fourteen year old's section. Although District Three was big, and everyone didn't know each other, everyone knew the twins. As the camera zoomed in on the two faces of Gadget and Gizmo, Andromeda shrieked in terror.

"WHAT IS THAT THING?" She screamed, jumping off from her seat on the couch. "GET IT OUT OF MY SIGHT! GET THAT MONSTER OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW!

Sultus quickly sat up from his reclined position on the couch, looking desperately for the television remote. Once he found it, he quickly pressed the power button and the screen went black. Andromeda sighed and sat back down on the couch.

"Are they going to let that _thing_ into the games?" She asked, her eyes wide with terror.

"It's not a thing Andromeda. It's called a Siamese twin."

"I don't care what it is! I don't want to watch it!" She screamed, shutting her eyes tight. That _thing_ , whatever it was, shouldn't—no—wouldn't—be allowed into the games. Not if she could help it.

"Remember, it's going to die, right?" Sultus said, attempting to console his wife.

"Right," she muttered, cracking her eyes open slightly. The fact it was going to die did make her feel a bit better. "Okay, you can turn it back on."

* * *

 _Artemis Polinski, 8._

In a room not far from Andromeda and Sultus' apartment, a young girl who couldn't remember a time where children weren't murdering each other on national television sat. Her eyes, the color of the pale blue sky, were glued on the flashing screen in front of her. In her hands lay two action figures, each winners from previous games. Sometimes, when she was very bored, she would play Hunger Games with them.

She closed her eyes tight, trying to transport herself to District Four. She wished the scientists from Three would hurry up and invent teleporters already. Her 120-inch personal television screen that her parents had bought her for her fifth birthday never did the trick. She wanted to be there—to meet the tributes who were her heroes. Maybe if she begged her parents for hours they would take her to the tribute parade this year.

Behind the stage, spots of bright light glittered in the ocean's waves. A man cleared his throat, whom she recognized to be the escort. She had an action figure of him somewhere in her room as well, probably buried under her hundreds of other toys.

He reached his hand into the females' reaping ball and surfaced with a white slip. Artemis bit her lip in anticipation. She hoped it would be another tribute like Misty—her favorite victor—who consequently came from District Four.

"Nerida Willows!" The escort shouted. A blonde girl stepped out of the sixteen year old's section and made her way to the stage. For a girl from the Districts, Artemis thought that Nerida was pretty. Plus, she didn't tremble as much as the reaped normally do. Maybe she'd be like Misty.

Out of nowhere, two male voices broke the eerie silence that followed Nerida's name being called. "That's what you get for messing with us!" They shouted happily. "We hope you die!"

Two peacekeepers quickly scooped up the boys and dragged them to the outskirts of the town center. Their shouts were hastily silenced. The escort rolled his eyes and dove his hand into the reaping ball once again. "Albert Quarius!"

A fifteen year old boy with fiery red hair appeared on the television screen. He glanced around the crowd with piercing green eyes, daring someone to take his place. When no one did, he began to shout angrily and stormed up to the stage. Once he arrived at the stage, he ran up to the escort and threw his fist at the escort's face. The escort staggered backwards and dropped the microphone. Albert quickly picked it up and began to speak into it.

"I hate you! I hate you all!" Albert shouted, his freckled face twisted into a grimace. "If I die, you all are going to di—"

Two peacekeepers grabbed Albert and began to drag him across the stage and into a building just behind the town square. Nerida jumped out of the way when Albert passed her.

"Well folks, these are your tributes for the Tenth Games. Nerida Willows and Albert Quarius!" The escort said as he brushed dirt off his clothes and gave the crowd a very fake smile. Artemis could tell he was not happy.

She decided once the reapings were over she'd beg her parents for an Albert doll so she could beat up her escort one just as he did.

* * *

 _Darian Quinn, 34._

Roughly three blocks from where the spoiled girl sat playing with her dolls, Darian sat outside a television store with a dozen or so people. The day before his television had unfortunately broke, and since that day was a national holiday, no one was available to fix it. That was how he found himself shivering in the cold spring air, his golden teeth chattering as he craned his neck to see a small TV positioned in the glass window.

On the small television, District Five's escort began her long speech. Darian zoned out for the majority of it, listening to his teeth chatter and his body shiver in the cold of the night. For what felt like ages, the escort blabbed on. Then, she hurried over to the females' bowl and retrieved a white slip.

"And the female tribute from five this year is—Flash Gordon!"

Before Darian could even blink his eyes, a confident hand from the fourteen year old section shot up. "I volunteer! I, Lux Ward, volunteer as tribute!"

The escort, who was dressed in a ridiculous orange jumpsuit, gasped. She quickly cupped a hand over her mouth and regained her poise. District Five had never had a volunteer before. Darian and the people in the small crowd were just as surprised as she. "Delightful! Well, Lux Ward, come up here!"

Lux confidently strode up to the stage, grinning widely at the cameras. Once she made her way up the steps, she grabbed the microphone from the escort's hand.

"I, Lux Ward, will be District Five's first winner! You may ask, why did I volunteer? Well—I'll give you an answer. I want to give you all food for an entire year! I want the Capitol to love us! District Five will be the new One! We will be bathed in riches! We will be loved by all!"

Some of the crowd cheered, yet most remained silent. A young girl, about nineteen or so, clapped wildly next to Darian. "I love this girl! She has some fire to her for sure!"

Darian nodded his head slowly. Something about this girl didn't add up. He didn't understand why she'd volunteer for others. She must be hiding something, she couldn't possibly be this nice or selfless.

After the crowd finished clapping, the delighted escort skipped over to the males' bowl. "Our male tribute is—Jaxs Williamson!"

A stone-faced boy from the eighteen year old's section slowly made his way up to the stage. He didn't smile, he didn't frown. He looked like a stone statue as he made his way up the steps and took his place beside Lux.

"I know we'll have our winner this year! Give it up for Lux Ward and Jaxs Williamson!"

For the first time since the games began, a few people in District Five's crowd clapped. A little spark of hope blazed in their hearts.

Darian's only hope was that it would get warmer.

* * *

 _Kingsly Khan, 16._

In a warm and cozy room—a place where Darius wished he was—Kingsly Khan groaned. The seal of District Six flashed on the screen, followed by a plain wooden stage with a large crowd surrounding it.

"Why does District Six have to be so _boring?"_ Kingsly whined, her dark brown eyes rolling to the top of her head. "Their tributes are always _boring._ Everything there is _boring_."

"Kingsly, they have a victor you know," her father responded.

"I know, but Buick is so _boring._ His games were so _boring_. He only killed one person. Only killing one person was _boring._ "

Her father chuckled, straightening in his chair. "Then watch. Maybe one of this year's tributes will surprise you."

"Doubtful," Kingsly grumbled under her breath. As she watched District Six's escort pick a slip from the males' bowl, she couldn't help notice how boring he was. He was wearing tan, a very boring color. His hair wasn't even dyed, and he wasn't even wearing any makeup. His name, Lime Brown, was even boring.

"Raleigh Travers!" The escort called in a boring tone of voice. Kingsly couldn't help herself from yawning.

The camera zoomed in on a boring looking boy in the sixteen year olds' section. He was frozen in shock, and his friend was trying desperately to bring him back to reality. _What a boring reaction._

Raleigh boringly walked up to the stage, expressionless. Kingsly could feel her eyelids slowly drooping.

The boring escort made his way over to the females' bowl. "Tesserae Bird!"

Kingsly instantly shot up in her seat. _What an odd name._ She'd never heard the name Tesserae before—wasn't that the name of a ration for poor people? And Bird sounded awfully familiar. After a few minutes, she recalled where she had last heard the name. Bird was a famous rebel who stole food and gave it to the poor. She was executed a few years back. Kingsly grinned widely as the camera focused in on Tesserae.

Oddly enough, a smug smile could be seen on Tesserae's dirt-covered face. It was almost as if she had wanted to be reaped, or was expecting it. She happily skipped up to the stage and smiled widely at the camera before shaking Raleigh's hand.

Tesserae was anything but boring. Kingsly hid a joyous smile because she didn't want to give her father the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

* * *

 _Thornton Withers, 87._

In the apartment below Kingsly, a man she would have thought was extremely boring sat rocking in his chair. Thornton Withers—the man in the chair—had seen it all throughout his life. He was born in a time where there was a thing called States instead of Districts. He had seen the war that ushered his country into the Dark Days. He had seen the rebellion and the birth of a new nation. Now, he watched in horror as 23 more children would be added to the masses he had seen die in his lifetime.

District Seven had always been a favorite of his. It reminded him of his childhood growing up in the thick pine forests of Minnesota. So when their seal appeared on the screen, Thornton always felt a pang of sorrow run through his body.

A man about his age appeared on the screen, two bowls in front of him. In a different world—perhaps if he hadn't moved halfway across the country all those years back—he may have been another face in the crowd that now appeared on his television screen. The escort moved towards the females' bowl and retrieved a name from the very bottom.

"Celeste Agreste!"

A girl from the sixteen year olds' section warily approached the stage, her face twisted into a grimace. Her lips moved slowly—she seemed to be talking to herself. Perhaps she was trying to reassure herself she'd be alright. By the time she had reached the stage, her efforts seemed to fail, and silver tears streamed down her cheeks. Another girl in the crowd—sounding a bit younger than Celeste by her voice alone—was screaming her name and sobbing simultaneously. Thornton moved towards the television remote. He didn't know how much longer he could watch this.

The escort didn't seem to notice Celeste's watery tears and moved on to the males' bowl. "Tristan Juniper!"

A boy emerged out of the twelve year olds' section. The expression on his face spoke louder than any words could. His brown eyes were wide, and his body shook. He was absolutely terrified. Tristan looked back at the thirteen year olds' section, weakly smiled, and then made his way up to the stage. Like Celeste, by the time he reached the stage he too was sobbing.

Quickly, Thornton reached for the black remote. With a press of a button, the screen turned to black, and the room was silent.

In a few weeks, the children he just watched would most likely be silent as well.

* * *

 _Orphelio Desai, 55._

The bar Orphelio sat in was anything but silent. People drunkenly burped and cheered every few minutes, especially when a tribute was reaped or had volunteered. There was laughing and dancing and singing. Everyone in the bar was having a good time, including him.

"Pass me another," Orphelio ordered the bartender. Within a few seconds, Orphelio had another sparkling alcoholic drink in plastered in his left hand. He took a sip just as District Eight's stage was coming into view.

A women dressed in a patchwork dress was sifting her hand around the reaping bowl, taking her sweet time. Growing impatient, Orphelio slammed his drink down on the wooden bar.

"Hurry up woman!" He howled drunkenly. A few people joined in, yet most ignored him.

Finally, the escort surfaced with a folded slip. She took her sweet time unfolding it, which made Orphelio even angrier. "Hurry up!" He shouted again.

After a few moments, the escort dressed in patchwork read the name off the slip. "Grace Peterson," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child. Orphelio made a note to himself that if he ever saw this woman he'd turn her into an Avox simply for how annoying she was being right now. He just wanted to see the stupid district children die. _Was that too much to ask for?_

The girl who had been reaped, Grace, began sobbing. She collapsed to the ground in a fit of tears.

"Just drag her up to the stage already!" Orphelio shouted impatiently.

Within a few moments, a pair of peacekeepers arrived to drag her up to the stage. She went along willingly, not daring to put up a fight. By the time she had reached the stage, she had composed herself somewhat—enough to stand by herself.

Orphelio wasn't sure if he heard her correctly—or if he was just very drunk—but he swore he heard her tell the escort, very sarcastically and bitterly, she was glad she could help.

The escort seemed a little peeved by her comment, but continued onto the males' bowl. "Merino Jones!"

Merino appeared from the thirteen year olds' section. He walked up to the stage as if it were a normal day. He gave a small smile to the camera before shaking Grace's trembling hand. Orphelio was glad he was quick about it. His patience was growing thin.

"Your tributes for the Tenth Hunger Games, Grace Peterson and Merino Jones!" The escort announced slowly.

Orphelio grumbled before taking another sip of his drink. He had a feeling both these tributes were going to die. For their sake, he hoped their deaths were quick.

* * *

 _Ambrosia Green, 31._

Ambrosia wished the reapings were longer. The seal of District Nine had already flashed on the screen, and she wished that there were more than just four districts left.

For Ambrosia, the games were an escape from life. No more worrying about finding a husband that her parents liked; no more wondering how much longer she would be alone for. All she had to worry about was who her favorite tribute was and what chariot outfit she liked the best.

The plain stage of District Nine appeared on her television screen. On it was one of her favorite escorts, Jeevan Porcello. He was a broad shouldered man with sea blue hair and long fingernails that stretched on for feet. He reached his hand into the females' reaping bowl and caught a slip of paper between his finger nails.

He read it aloud. "Abrielle Mariani!" He called, his voice booming throughout the square.

The cries of a young girl are the only other sound in the crowd. She made her way up to the stage, sniffling. A few people in the crowd called out her name but are quickly silenced by what she is guessing are peacekeepers. Ever since last year, when there was a riot in Nine, the peacekeepers have been more then prevalent.

She brushed her hair to the side and glanced at the camera with sad and watery eyes. Jeeven doesn't seem to care and moved on to the males' bowl, hoping to pick someone a bit more composed.

"Anton Hayle!" He shouted, his voice once again the only sound in the square. Yet, out of the blue, a boy from the eighteen year olds' section interrupts the silence.

"I volunteer as tribute!" He yelled, pushing through the crowd with strong hands. A few people fell to the ground as he pushed them to the side.

"My name is Draven Sinveil," he announced as he reached the stage. He took his place beside Abrielle, his shadow looming over her small body. She looked like a mouse compared to him.

Jeeven, a bit surprised from the spontaneous volunteer, stood still for a moment.

After a pause, he began again. "Well folks, you never would have guessed it, but here you have it. Abrielle Mariani and Draven Sinveil!"

By the time the reaping was over, Ambrosia was so involved in it that she began to clap as if she were there. In reality, she was the only person in the empty room.

* * *

 _Darius Foster, 49._

He sat in a room full of people. At the head of the room was the president, a brown haired woman with a stone face and a supposedly fiery temper—though to him, she looked to be the calmest person in the room. Around her swarmed a group of gamemakers, and on the edges of the room, a dozen or so Avoxes. All fifty eyes in the room were glued to a large screen just in front of where the president was sitting.

Darius winced as he saw the seal of District Ten appear on the screen. Although he hated watching all the District's reapings, Ten was always the most painful and nerve-racking for him. He had five children who he presumed were alive, four of them at reaping age. _What if they were reaped?_

He wanted to scream; he wanted to shout. Yet, the Capitol had silenced him years ago. He couldn't do anything. He could only sit and watch as the cattle were lead to the slaughter.

The escort dipped her hand into the females' bowl. Quickly, she pulled out a slip from the middle of the ball and read it aloud. "Marena Combe."

Darius let out a sigh of relief. Neither of his daughters were reaped this year. He smiled weakly, yet instantly regretted it. _Did it make him an awful person that he was glad another child was to die instead of his?_

Marena, the girl who had just been reaped, looked surprisingly composed for the situation she was in. She held her head high, and gave a few people some reassuring glances when they looked her way. If she was nervous, she was hiding it well.

A few minutes later, the males' name was called. "Chance Morrow!"

Darius sighed again and once again felt guilty. His sons were not reaped. Returning his attention back to the screen, he saw chance also appear out of the seventeen year olds' section. Yet, he looked far more nervous than Marena did. His body shook slightly, his hands very fidgety. He took a few deep breaths in an out before making his way up to the stage.

Feeling guilty he was glad these tributes were reaped, Darius silently prayed that one of them would bring District Ten their second victory.

* * *

 _President Lucille Heron, 42._

District Eleven had never had a victor. How did she know this exactly? Well, as President of Panem, she knew everything. She knew that District Eleven was one of the more rebellious districts, she as punishment, she made sure no one from District Eleven had won yet. Whenever a tribute got close, she would ask the head gamemaker to kill them.

Sometimes, it was easy. All one had to do was start a fire and lead the tribute right into the hungry jaws of a mutt. Other times, it was harder. The tribute may be strong, so other ways of death are more appropriate, she such as famine or trackerjackers.

As she watched the seal of District Eleven pop up onto the screen, she hoped that the tributes this year were a weak as mice. Her job would be much easier that way.

The escort, a short a plump man whose name she didn't bother remembering but at one time knew, read the slip of paper he had just retrieved from the females' bowl. "Velicity Peach!" He called into the crowd.

From the other side of the room, she heard one of the gamemakers laugh. "I may or may not have rigged that," she heard him brag to a friend.

"It was time for that swine to die. The rest of the family is dead—she'll be the last one. Perhaps that will quench the rebellion there." The other gamemaker responded.

The president grinned as she watched the girl in question roll her eyes and make her way to the stage. President Heron had a feeling the girl knew that the reaping ball was rigged too, for she didn't look at all shocked. The children of famous rebels always seem to be reaped more frequently than those who are children of loyalists. She knew it wasn't a coincidence, as she was the one asking for them to be rigged.

"And now, for the boys," the escort said, making his way over to the adjacent reaping ball. He dove his hand in and pulled out another name. "Basil Anderson," he read.

A dark skinned boy stumbled out of the twelve year olds' section, a look of terror plastered on his face. He knew he had no chance. Slowly making his way up onto the stage, he took his place beside Velicity.

"Perfect," President Heron cooed. "The girl has been reaped, and the boy—well—he has little chance. Brilliant."

* * *

 _Nina Esteves, 38._

Brilliant was never a word she used when describing District Twelve. There the sky always seemed to be stained grey and the people were always greyer. Reaping day was no exception.

A small crowd gathered around the rundown stage. The escort, the only bright thing in sight, was laughing as he reached his hand into the females' bowl. His sun yellow hair somehow seemed to gleam in the grey light. Pulling out a slip, he laughed once more.

"And your wonderful tribute this year is—Arilli Carr!"

A girl in the fifteen year olds' section screamed. Beside her, a girl with half her face missing clutched a knife tight to her hand. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her hands that held the knife shook tremendously. Yet, before she could do anyone any harm, two peacekeepers came running through the crowd and scooped her up. They tore the knife from her clutches as she thrashed and screamed.

As they dragged her up to the stage, the camera zoomed in on the mayor. He seemed to be cursing under his breath, mumbling words indistinguishable to Nina. From what she knew, Arilli—the girl who had been reaped—was his niece.

A bit shaken, the escort dressed in yellow moved over to the males' bowl. "Well, since nobody was hurt—we can continue!" He chimed, though a bit less enthusiastically than before.

The rest of the crowd remained silent while Arilli continued to scream for her knife back.

"Cinder Newport!" The escort chattered after unfolding the piece of paper in his hand.

A boy with the signature seam look could been seen making his way through the fourteen year olds' section. His grey eyes were wide—he looked like a deer in the headlights. When he made his way up onto the stage, a shrieking voice joined in with Arilli's. Nina guessed it was perhaps a brother or a friend.

Cinder turned towards Arilli, going to shake her hand. She refused. Cinder began to bawl.

Another grey day in twelve; another pair of crying tributes. Nina sighed and shut off the television.

That night she dreamed of Arilli's shrieks; of Cinder's wide eyes; of a pool of blood that kept growing higher and higher until she could see nothing but crimson.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh my goodness that took forever. 6 hours of straight writing. I understand if you can't read all of it, I don't think I could. This chapter is just over 6,000 words, and wow, I never thought I could do it. But as I've proclaimed this summer to be, it is the summer of trying new things. So this was a new thing!**

 **I'm back a day earlier then I thought. I had a very good trip, it was very relaxing. While there I read this amazing book and I thought I'd try to replicate the style, so this chapter may look a bit different from what I normally write. But it's the summer of trying new things!**

 **Questions: Whose POV did you like the best? The worst? Best reaping? If you were paying extra close attention, you'll see I included three POV's of characters from the prologues.**

 **Next up is train rides! And 100 reviews! Thanks everyone!**

 **Good to be back,**

 **paper :)**


	17. Train Rides 1-4: A New Reality

_Train Rides 1-4: A New Reality_

* * *

 _District One_

 _Kaeleah Stonegate, 16._

For her entire life, people told her a second was nothing. It was 1/60th of a minute, 1/3600th of an hour. _Nothing could happen in a second,_ they said.

 _Yet, everything happened in a second_. In a mere second, her entire life changed. It took a second for the door to close behind her father as she saw him for what she hoped would be the last time. In a second, a 1/60th of a minute, a 1/3600th of an hour, she went from being a prisoner to being as free as a bird.

They had been wrong. Everyone in her life had been wrong. They told her if she looked beautiful, she'd feel beautiful. They told her that if she looked happy, she'd be happy. They told her that if she hid the bruises, she wouldn't be able to feel them. They told her that if she buried all her troubles behind a mask, they'd float away.

Only now, alone in a room that was once used as a jail cell, did she take off the mask her father had forced her to wear for the past eight years. Only now, when the mask was removed, she felt all her troubles float away.

A laugh escaped her mouth. This time it wasn't fake like all the others had been. Another laugh surfaced, followed by more. Soon enough they couldn't stop coming. It was an endless stream of joy that couldn't be quenched.

She found herself twirling in circles. Kaeleah was so enveloped in her sudden joy she didn't notice a peacekeeper enter the room. For minutes, the two stood—the peacekeeper very confused—Kaeleah bubbling with glee.

After the peacekeeper's initial confusion had set, he lunged forwards and grabbed the twirling girl by the wrist. Kaeleah didn't protest and went along with him as they made their way down the hallway and out into the blinding light of the day. They exited the townhall through a backdoor to evade the crowds. Kaeleah glanced around, her blue eyes widening. _What if her father was here? What if he was watching her right now?_

She put her invisible mask on for now. She wiped the smile off her face and straightened her shoulders. With a soft brush, she flattened a stray blonde hair sticking up on her head. Once again, she was a porcelain doll with no troubles. Nothing had changed. She had not just been twirling in circles and laughing.

After a few minutes of walking, she and her assigned peacekeeper met up with Eris and his assigned peacekeeper. Eris nodded in greetings to her, and she nodded back.

"Are you ready?" He asked Kaeleah, raising an eyebrow. At the academy, Eris and she and never been extremely close, but then again—she wasn't very close with anyone. Her father had made sure of that.

"Are you?" She echoed back, glancing at him with wide blue eyes. In reality, she didn't know the answer to that question herself. She was ready to be free—to do whatever she wanted without asking her father for his permission. Yet, despite her year of training, she wasn't sure if she was ready to go to the games. She didn't know how she felt about the possibility of dying, but she didn't want to worry about that now. For now, all she wanted to focus on was her week of freedom. She'd worry about the games when they came.

"No matter how I feel, it's too late now to turn back. I have to live with my choice." Eris replied.

She wished she had the luxury of making the choice. Her father had decided everything for her—but it was up to her to make the best of it. The first choice she decided to make on her own was that she'd make the week before she died the best of her life.

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18._

As Eris boarded the luxurious bullet train, a nervous knot began to grow deep in his stomach. _Had he made the right decision? Was living out his family and friends dreams worth all the risk it brought? What if he didn't make it home in three weeks? Was he being too impulsive?_

Yet, there was no turning back now. He had to live with his decision, like he did with all the others.

Upon stepping into the first cart, the first thing that caught Eris' eye was not the luxurious velvet carpet the color of crimson, nor the mountain of food stacked high on a golden table. Instead, he found his eyes drifting towards a shimmering chandelier of glass. It was small—only a few feet across—yet it was dazzling. Diamonds hung from the main structure and glinted in the dim light that streamed in through the windows. Perhaps this is why his father yearned to see the luxuries of the Capitol so desperately. They were gorgeous. He held back a gasp as Jewel, District One's sole victor, brushed past him.

"Beautiful isn't it?" She sighed dreamily.

Eris nodded his head mutely. Beautiful didn't even begin to describe what lay before his eyes. After a few moments of staring, he regretfully pulled his eyes away. He wasn't here to stare at shining chandeliers, he was here to win and prove himself. This was only a waste of precious time—a distraction at best.

"Jewel!" He called after his mentor, who to his dismay, had already exited the cabin. With a huff, he rushed after her. After a few minutes of searching he located her in the spa cart, a seaweed wrap already plastered onto her face. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of cucumbers. "Can we talk strategy?"

His mentor grumbled, sitting up from her relaxed position on what looked to be a plush bed. "After I get my facial. I need to look good for all those cameras once we reach the Capitol! Last year I was an absolute mess! My pores were the size of pinheads!"

"When will you be finished then?" Eris questioned.

"I'm never finished. A beautiful face like mine always needs to be maintained!" Jewel chimed.

With a grumble, Eris turned away. He loathed people who were full of themselves—and Jewel was most definitely one of those people. He made his way out of the cart and didn't bother to look back.

For an hour or so, Eris wandered the train in a mindless stupor. He entered and exited cars at will, letting his mind drift back to Two. He thought of his grandmother, who despite her fears, was supportive in letting him train and go to the games. He thought of Moriah—how they understood each other even when they were silent; how they stuck together like glue. Then he thought of the seemingly infinite list of dead people in his life: his father, his friends, and possibly his mother. He thought of all the things he had to prove to them and of all the things he had to prove to himself.

Eventually he found his way to the food cart. It was a smaller cart compared to most. A few tables and chairs—all made of gold—were scattered about the room. In the center a mountains of food sat on silver platters. Behind the table was his district partner, Kaeleah. In her hands were various food items, and around her mouth was a ring of crumbs.

"Hey Eris," she chirped happily, turning to face him as he entered the car. She held out a perfectly pink cupcake in her hand. "Want one?"

Narrowing his eyes, Eris declined politely. Kaeleah shrugged and stuffed it into her mouth, swallowing the cupcake in an entire bite. Eris let his jaw hang open—half in awe, half in surprise.

"What?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side. "Never seen a girl eat before?"

Eris shook his head back and forth. "No, no. It's just—you usually aren't this—"

"—Messy?"

"I was going to say piggy, but messy works too. Any explanation? You normally eat like a bird during lunch at the academy."

Kaeleah giggled and placed the remaining food in her hand down on the golden table. She glanced over at him, her blue eyes softening. Yet, when she spoke, her tone seemed a bit harsh. "We always put on a mask when people are watching. We do as we do so that we appease others. But here? I have no one to please. No one cares if I eat cupcakes until my stomach is about to explode. No one cares if I talk whenever I want. No one cares if I'm rich or poor. No one cares if I'm beautiful or ugly. Here, where no one is watching, I can do whatever the hell I want and be whatever the hell I want to be. Here, I appease to no one but myself."

Never before had Eris seen Kaeleah say so many words. At home, she was as quiet as a mouse. He gave her a half smile before exiting the cart. What she said had some truth to it, yet he couldn't afford that luxury. Here he couldn't think of himself. He had to think of all those he lost; all those that cared for him. Unlike Kaeleah, he was here to appease to everyone else.

* * *

 _District Two_

 _Alaric Pyre, 18._

The four of them at around a round table made of gold. Elibus and Henna, his and Lena's mentors, sat at the ends, while his district partner and he sat at the sides.

"So, what is your gameplan?" Elibus questioned, blinking his dark brown eyes at the two of them. Henna smiled wide, her pearly white teeth glinting in the bright light of the train cart.

No one spoke for a minute. Alaric glanced at Lena, hoping she'd respond, but she was anything but present. Her dull green eyes had a faraway look to them and she was silently fidgeting with a tattered bracelet on her wrist. Her face was expressionless. Alaric decided she was probably thinking about that friend she talked so much about—Quartz.

"Well?" Henna asked, her quiet voice breaking the eerie silence of the train car. "Do you have one or not?"

Alaric laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Quartz," he muttered, just loud enough so Lena could hear.

Instantly, his district partner shot up in her chair. Her small ears perked high in the sky, and she whipped her head around wildly. Eventually, her gaze rested up Elibus. "You know I don't like it when you talk about her," Lena hissed through bared teeth.

Elibus raised his hands into the air. "It wasn't me, I swear," he protested. Alaric stifled a laugh. He always liked to play with people—especially those he didn't like very much. From a few months of watching Lena and sparing with her at the training center, he knew everything that set her off.

Growling, Lena turned towards Alaric. "It was you, I heard you laugh!" She yelled, her once dull expression now an angry one. She clenched her fist tight and attempted to take a swipe at Alaric's nose. Yet, before she could get near him, Henna grabbed her wrist with a strong grip. Lena wriggled and tried to free her hand with all her might, yet she got nowhere.

"That's enough," Henna said calmly. "You will have more than enough opportunities for violence during the games."

Lena rolled her eyes, her nostrils fuming. Alaric snorted.

"Act your age," Henna commanded before releasing her grip on Lena's wrist. "Now, do either of you have a gameplan?"

"I was just going to play it by e—"

Lena cut him off. "I do. First, I'm going to get my revenge for Quartz by slitting both the District One tributes necks. Then I'm going to win and live in a mansion by myself away from people like him," she responded, pointing a finger at Alaric.

Elibus glanced at her with narrowed eyes. "Lena, have you thought that through? Last year the District One tributes were trained. I'm expecting this year they will be too. It's not as easy as you think it will be."

Henna nodded her head. "Elibus and I were talking earlier, and we were thinking that maybe you two should ally with them. Y—"

His district partner wouldn't let Henna get any further. Slamming her fist down on the table, she leapt up from her seat. " _Ally_? I'm going to _ally_ with the people who murdered my best friend in her sleep? You must be insane _. I'd rather die than ally with those murderers_."

With that, Lena angrily stomped towards the door. Yet, before she could slam it shut, Alaric called out to her. He knew he needed Lena as an ally, and even if he didn't like her, it was better for her to be on his side then against him.

"Wait! I have an idea. Come back!" Alaric shouted after her.

Lena turned, rolling her eyes. She looked pissed. "What is it genius?"

"Listen all the way through. If you and I ally with the people from District One, we'd be unstoppable. There would be no other trained tributes in the arena. We'd make history. We could wipe all the others out, then when it is just us four, you could betray them. It'd make your revenge even sweeter because as an ally, they would trust you."

Alaric watched as Lena's lips curled into a sly smile. "Perfect, perfect," she muttered to herself before exiting the car. He too found himself smiling. With a few words, he had played Lena like a fiddle.

He had been observing all his life, never using his skills for anything but watching. But here—here he would put them to the test. Lena was only a warm-up.

* * *

 _Lena Evangelos, 18._

On the flashing television screen in front of her, a girl slept soundly. Her pretty dirty blonde hair that Lena had spent so many years pretending to run her fingers through was spread out in all directions. Her brilliant blue eyes—the same eyes Lena had fallen in love with—were hidden behind her closed eyelids. Her tanned skin appeared golden in the flickering light of a candle off-screen. The girl's body rose and fell steadily. She looked relaxed, at peace even. Strange to think she was in the middle of the games that so many died in.

Lena held her breath as the candlelight grew brighter. At the left corner of the screen, two bodies approached the sleeping girl. They both clutched knives littered with droplets of blood. Although Lena knew what was going to happen—she'd replayed this scene more times then she could remember—it still made her anxious to watch.

The bodies bent down beside the sleeping tribute. Then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, their knives had pierced the sleeping girl's skin. One had hit her directly in the heart; the other had slit her throat. Lena held back a scream as a pool of crimson blood formed around her friend's limp body.

The door to the car swung open. Lena grumbled, averting her eyes from the screen. In the doorway she saw her mentor, Elibus, standing. His muscly arms were crossed over his chest as he gave Lena a sympathetic glance.

"I watch it too sometimes," he muttered, making his way over to the couch were Lena sat. He plopped himself down beside her.

"It's not the same," Lena retorted. She had no desire to talk to Elibus about her best friend's death. All she wanted to do was watch it over and over again until she couldn't see anything else but Quartz's crimson blood. She needed to be reminded of why she was here—talking to Elibus wouldn't help any.

Elibus shook his head. "I was her friend too you know."

"You barely knew her."

"I knew her enough to call her my friend. We were partners in the games and trained together for a year before that."

"We trained together for a lifetime," Lena hissed, growing angrier. If he was trying to make her feel better, it wasn't working. "She was my everything."

Elibus paused, his jaw hanging open slightly. He was at a loss for words. Not knowing what to say, he stood and headed towards the car's door. Yet, before he opened it, it turned back to face her.

"Then find a new everything. You shouldn't be risking your life for something that you can't have Lena. You may think killing the District One tributes will satisfy your hunger for revenge, but nothing will bring her back."

Lena snorted. "You have no idea what you are talking about."

"Maybe I don't. But if you kill them and still feel as empty as you do now, don't come crying to me."

"Get out!" Lena screamed, banging her fists on the couch. "Get out of my sight! When I kill those pompous District One brats I'll feel amazing! You have no damn idea what you are talking about, you idiotic moron!"

Elibus narrowed his dark eyes at Lena, shaking his head from side to side slowly. The look on his face was sorrowful, yet tanged with disappointment. "Quartz wouldn't have wanted this. She would have wanted you to be happy Lena. Right now you are anything but happy. Just look in a mirror. Do her a favor an—"

"Don't speak for her! Get out of my sight, or I swear I'm going to—"

Lena glanced towards the door, but it was already shut. Elibus had left.

Lena returned her attention to the television screen, trying to get her mind of Elibus. Yet, she couldn't help herself from wondering if the hollow feeling deep in her chest would ever disappear.

* * *

 _District Three_

 _Sereina Ampere, 16._

She wished the train would go slower. As she stared blankly out the window, all she could see was a messy blur of colors and shapes. They blended together into a mesh of nothingness. She only wanted to see the world before she was sent to her inventible doom. Yet, the Capitol couldn't even give her that luxury.

The only consolation she had was that upon dying, which she surely would within the next few weeks, she'd see her little sister again. They'd reunite up in the pretty blue sky and play games for all of eternity like they did so many years ago. The locket dangling around her neck felt heavier than it had been moments before.

A soft hand tapped her on the shoulder, waking her from her daydream. Turning around, she spotted her district partner—or district partners standing behind her. One smiled while the other was lost in some kind of putty he was molding in his hand. Sereina weakly smiled back.

"Hey," the smiling one chimed. "I'm Gizmo. Nice to meet you."

Sereina nodded her head mutely, holding out a hand. Yet, she instantly pulled it back once she noticed the thing—she didn't really know what to call it—had four arms.

"I'm Sereina," she replied shyly. "And likewise."

Sereina's gaze flickered between the two boys. Gizmo, the one who introduced himself, was still smiling at her. The other who had not yet introduced himself was still fidgeting with his putty aimlessly. Gizmo elbowed his brother, who instantly shot up and gave Sereina an awkward smile.

"Oh, uh—I'm uh—Gadget," he stuttered, looking a bit out of place. Within a few seconds, his attention was focused back down at his putty.

"We were wondering if you wanted to ally with us," Gizmo took over. "On average, people who ally have a higher percent chance at winning. We of course want to win, and you looked nice, so we thought you may want to raise your odds as well."

Gulping, Sereina averted her gaze from the set of twins. It had never been her plan to ally, and she didn't think anyone would approach her. She was planning to hide out in the woods by herself and hope that she wouldn't be found.

"Uh—" she began, not really knowing what to say. She felt bad for turning them down, but in this game, she knew she needed to ignore her feelings and stick to what her gut was telling her. "I don't want any allies. They will hinder more than help me. Sorry."

Gizmo glanced downwards, a bit dismayed. "Oh—well—uh—okay. See you later then."

The two slowly made their way out of the car, Gizmo practically dragging Gadget. Sereina glanced back out her window to the blurry scene in front of her. Raising her hand to the locket, she clutched it tightly. A teardrop streamed down her cheek.

"I'll see you soon Alessia. Just hold on a little longer, okay?"

* * *

 _Gadget & Gizmo McGhee, 14._

Love was what got Gadget through the first fourteen years of his life. Although many thought so, he wasn't dumb. He listened intently as he fiddled with his putty; he watched with keen eyes and picked up things many never took the time to see. He saw the way people looked at him and his brother. He knew everyone thought they were freaks—his own parents included. He saw the terror behind their supposedly kind and caring eyes. If it wasn't for his brother, he didn't know what he would do. _Die, probably._

But as the pair sped towards the Capitol on a train that moved at what Gizmo claimed to be the "speed of light", Gadget didn't know how far his brother's love would get him. Yes, it worked at home—but people were at least slightly tolerant in District Three. Most accepted eccentricity and uniqueness. Gadget and his brother were most definitely unique.

Yet, in the Capitol, uniqueness was frowned upon. Gadget was smart and observant enough to know that. Everyone there followed insane trends and strived to look as crazy as possible. They lathered their face with makeup until all you could see was bright eyeshadow and rosy blush; they put on eccentric costumes and headdresses that stretched for feet on end. Everyone thought Gizmo was the smart one, but Gizmo didn't understand the certain hell they were zooming towards at the speed of light. Gadget knew the Capitol wouldn't accept them for who they were. Everything there was based on first impressions, and Gadget and Gizmo rarely made a good one.

"I wonder what amazing technology will be in the Capitol," Gizmo chattered to himself, trying to stay positive. "I heard they have walls that change with a press of a button to reveal whatever place you want. Isn't that cool Gadget?"

Gadget pretended not to hear Gizmo's question and began to fiddle with the red putty in his hands. Personally, he didn't care much about the cool technology that lay ahead. What he was looking forwards to instead was all the artwork and beautiful buildings that he assumed would be abundant in the glittering city of legends.

"I bet their computers are amazing!" Gizmo continued enthusiastically. "They must be able to process information within nanoseconds! I bet their RAM is outs—"

Gizmo stopped midsentence, his attention grabbed by something else. Gadget glanced upwards, following his brother's icy blue gaze to a small camera that sat plastered on a wall. Before Gadget could even study it himself, he felt his body lurch forwards towards the camera. Unwillingly, he stumbled along after his brother.

"Wow, that camera is amazing!" Gizmo exclaimed once they were a few feet away. "It's lens is so tiny, I could barely see it. I'm guessing it has excellent zoom as well."

Gadget nodded his head in disinterest. The camera looked boring to him. It was just a black piece of metal on the wall—barely bigger than his hand. He huffed and glanced around for something slightly more interesting. Within seconds, his gaze rested on a painting on the train wall.

The painting was decently sized and was surrounded by a golden frame. Just the gold frame was enough to catch Gadget's attention, as he usually gravitated to things that sparkled and shone. Yet, what lay inside the frame was even more spectacular. The painting was of what Gadget guessed to be a night sky. It had various colors: blues, yellows, greens, whites. Each was more vivid then the next. The yellows swirled together to form stars while a town below was painted in dark blues and blacks. Gadget made a mental note to himself to paint something similar when he got home.

 _Home._ Gadget almost choked at the thought of it. Although he was trying to stay hopeful, something deep inside him told him he'd never see his house or District Three again. He knew from watching the previous games that some tributes trained years to partake in them. They threw spears with deadly accuracy and swung swords with strong hands. He and his brother could barely hold a knife. If starvation or dehydration didn't kill them, the trained tributes surely would. Gadget gulped and dug his fingers into his putty anxiously.

So, as the train sped towards a place where people were currently writing petitions to kill the twins before they could even enter the arena, Gadget all of a sudden began to feel homesick for his home where his parents were secretly terrified of them and where he had never made a single friend beside his brother.

He thought that it was odd he'd miss a terrible place so badly.

* * *

 _District Four_

 _Albert Quarius, 15._

"Train me," Albert commanded his mentor, the weak-willed Misty Rivers. It was no secret she was a wimp—he'd heard she cried every year just before her tributes went to the games. Just by looking at her Albert could tell the rumors were true. She was short—short people were always weak in his mind—and whenever she spoke her voice broke like a pubescent boy. Her body trembled when she walked and her green eyes were always wide with fear. Right now, as Albert spoke her to her, she looked like a dear in the headlights.

Misty glanced around warily before looking back to Albert. "I'm not a very good mentor," she mumbled softly. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "All my tributes have died."

"Well I am obviously better then all your tributes," Albert protested arrogantly. "Do you even know who I am?"

Misty shrugged her shoulders. "You're Albert Quarius?" She questioned uncertainly.

"Incorrect, you moron. I am the ruthless Albert Quarius, son of the most notorious pirate ever to roam the seven seas."

Out of the corner of his eye, Albert watched as his equally moronic district partner entered the train cart and rolled her sea blue eyes at his statement. He snarled and whipped his body around to face her.

"What are you rolling your eyes at landlubber?" Albert sneered.

Nerida gulped, her blue eyes going as wide as Misty's. She glanced away quickly and tried to exit the room, but Albert called after her before she had the chance to open the door.

"Wait! I'm not done with you Merina Winters! Come back here or I'm going to make you walk the plank!"

Nerida rolled her eyes again, turning to face him. She looked to have gathered a bit more courage in the last few seconds. "It's Nerida Willows by the way," she responded. "And although you may think so, we aren't on a pirate ship anymore. It's called a train if you've ever heard of it."

"If I say we are on a pirate ship, we are on a pirate ship!" Albert screeched. Misty clamped her hands over her ears and began to whimper like a puppy. Nerida only blinked her eyes.

"Fine, whatever you say—landlubber." She quipped before exiting the room. Albert grunted, balling his fists together in rage.

"I'm no landlubber, landlubber! I'm going to kill you for calling me that! You are going to die a very painful death!" He screamed after her, yet she was already long gone. Behind him Misty began to cry.

"Shut up," he snapped at his mentor. This only made her cry harder.

"I told you to shut up!" He yelled louder, getting frustrated. On the pirate ship, everyone always obeyed him. _Why wasn't everyone following his command here?_

"Dad, I want her to shut up! Make her shut up!" Albert shrieked when her crying didn't cease. He glanced around wildly for his father, yet a few moments later he realized he wasn't here. He was back in District Four probably rounding up more traitors to torture. He would give anything to be with his dad right now. Albert grunted and stomped towards Misty angrily.

Extending his tanned hand, he grabbed Misty's long dirty blonde hair. He yanked a lock of it towards him, causing her to scream in pain.

Albert chuckled happily. "Shut up or I'll tug on it again."

Misty whipped her silver tears away and began to sniffle. Albert smiled, happy that she followed his orders. Yet, just for good measure, he gave her hair one last yank.

"Now train me landlubber," he ordered with a grin. Misty only began to bawl again.

* * *

 _Nerida Willows, 16._

She nervously paced back and forth in the dining cart. _She was going to the games. This was real. She was going to the games. This was real. She was going to the games. She could die. This was real._

Yet, no matter how many times she told herself that statement, it did not feel real. The stacks of food in front of her and the luxurious train she was riding in felt like illusions. The idea that in two weeks, her life could be over, felt like an impossible dream. Just five hours ago she'd been taking her daily morning swim in the ocean and now, five hours later, she was heading to the Hunger Games. This couldn't be happening.

Nerida anxiously padded up to the buffet table and stuffed a cupcake shaped like a reaping ball into her mouth. Before she knew it, half a dozen more had disappeared from the table in front of her. She instantly felt nauseous and went to sit down.

Her mentor, Misty Rivers, was no use. She was an even bigger wreck then Nerida was. Every time Nerida entered her cart, she was either trembling or crying. And her district partner, Albert, already wanted her dead. _Great, this is great. She had no allies, no mentor, and no plan._

Stressed, she stood from her seat and began to pace back and forth again. All she wanted to do was go to the beach and swim in the ocean. That always relaxed her. She loved the feeling of the gentle waves as they lapped up against her soft skin. She loved how the silky sand warmed her feet and how the squawks of the gulls rang through her ears.

Nerida closed her eyes, attempting to dislodge herself from reality. _She wasn't here, this wasn't real. She wasn't going to the games. This wasn't real. She was at the beach. She wasn't going to die. This wasn't real._ _She wasn't going to the games._

After a few minutes of pretending she wasn't here, Nerida gave up. It was no use. She snapped open her eyes with a sigh and made her way over to the television car. She pressed a button on a black remote and the screen came to life, buzzing with energy and color.

 _This will be a start._ Nerida walked up to a white basket beside the television set. Sliding her hand inside, she rummaged around for a tape of the first games. Once she retrieved it, she popped it into the television and sat back to watch the show.

It seemed that no one really knew what was happening in the first games. The arena was a simple temperate forest with plenty of trees. There were no alliances, and at first, everyone was hesitant to kill. There were no deaths in the bloodbath, and everyone went their separate directions. For the first three days, only two people died. Then, as the days passed, people began to starve to death. Daffodil Parker, a seventeen year old girl with short brown hair and small brown eyes, won the games by surviving the longest without food. Nerida wondered if these games were why the Hunger Games were named as such.

The second games were the first with a volunteer. A girl from district six, Audi Shapiro, volunteered because she was bullied into it. She died on the fifth day. The third games were the first with a bloodbath. In the first hour of the games, ten people died. The fourth games were the first with alliances. That was the year Misty won. The eighth games were the first with the trained tributes—both hailing from District Two.

By the time she was finished, Nerida couldn't help but think if her games would be the first of something. _Her games. This was really happening. She was going to the games._

She didn't know if she wanted to embrace the fact or forget about it. Either way, she was going, and reality would sink in soon enough.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, I discovered I do not like writing train rides. I hope they were okay, it felt a little rushed, especially Nerida's and Gadget's, but oh well. I hurt my neck today and I'm in a lot of pain so that could be affecting it. Not everything can be my best work. And sorry about the wait, this chapter took me forever to write.**

 **Questions: Whose scene did you like the best? Anything surprise you? How did you like the mentors you saw?**

 **Not much to say, except I'm keeping the poll open until the end of the train rides because only 8 of you have voted in it. PLEASE PLEASE vote in it, it may affect some tributes placements. Expect another train ride soon, 5-8 this time.**

 **paper :)**


	18. Train Rides 5-8: What are the Odds?

_Train Rides 5-8: What are the Odds?_

* * *

 _District Five_

 _Lux Ward, 14._

She'd woken up a peasant but was now a queen.

That morning she'd slipped on a plain grey dress littered with strange stains that was surely older then she was. Now, standing in her private chambers, she wore a luxurious deep purple dress the color of royalty. Earlier that day she'd fought over a measly piece of bread no bigger than her fist. Here there was a mountain of delicious food stacked higher than her. She walked two miles in shoes that barely stayed together that morning. It had taken her a half an hour. In the past hour she'd traveled 250 miles without even taking a step.

Volunteering had been too easy. With the single utter of two words she'd gone from rags to riches. The gullible people of District Five had even believed she had risked her life for their sake. In reality—she'd done it all for herself. All the mention of brining honor and glory to her home district had been a lie. Lux only wanted to bring honor and glory to herself.

It was all an act. Now, the people adored her. She'd surely get sponsors from the capitol for her immense "bravery" alone. The people believed she was their knight in shining armor, yet anything could be further from the truth. Instead she was a calculating queen pulling all the strings, making others do her dirty bidding for her. A queen that wanted nothing other than to obtain more power and riches for herself.

 _Was she power hungry?_ Perhaps. All she really desired was to remove herself from her previous life. If she stayed at the house—she would become nothing. Doomed to a life of hard manual labor for sure. She'd spend the rest of her life fighting over scraps of bread no bigger than her fist and walking two miles in shoes that were falling apart at the seams. She craved the life of a victor where she would never have to work again. She'd have shoes that fit and more food then she could ever eat. She'd be treated like a queen.

"Avox, fetch me the most expensive food you have," Lux ordered the woman standing mutely at the edge of her room. Quickly, the avox scurried towards the door and out into the hallway. Within a few minutes the woman returned with a golden plate stacked high with sushi, truffles and caviar.

"You are dismissed," Lux chimed happily, licking her lips at all the delicious food that lay in front of her. She waved the woman off with a hand and picked up a black truffle with another. Plopping it into her mouth, her taste buds began to tingle with desire. She chewed it slowly and swallowed it. It tasted sweet yet rich—almost like gold itself. Lux quickly plopped two more into her mouth. It was the best thing she'd ever eaten.

There wasn't even the smallest hint of doubt anywhere in her body. She knew she'd made the right choice from the moment she'd yelled out "I volunteer" into the silent square. With her wits she'd surely win the games and make this arrangement permanent. The throne was hers for the taking.

Lux had most definitely inherited her parent's desire for a good gamble. After all—the more one puts in the more one gets out. Her life was on the line, and if she won, she knew she wouldn't regret it.

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18._

A small intercom on the wall buzzed to life. "Jaxs Williamson, Lux has requested your presence in her personal car," it spoke in a voice as monotone as his own.

Jaxs blinked his dull eyes a few times, standing to his feet. He was slightly confused as to why Lux wanted to see him and wouldn't come find him herself. _If she wanted to see him so bad, why wouldn't she just get up off her own two feet and come looking for him?_ Still, Jaxs found his feet walking slowly towards her personal car. He was so used to following orders, he did it without even thinking.

Making his way through the luxurious train, he stopped at a few points to admire a beautiful painting or a luxurious couch made of velvet and lined with golden trim. Although he had grown up in what many would refer to as the lap of luxury with his mother being the mayor and all, everything on the train was still beautiful and dazzling nonetheless.

Eventually he found himself standing in front of Lux's closed door. The door itself was even stunning. It was a dark mahogany wood with Lux's name imprinted in gold letters. A golden seal of District Five was embedded in the door right under her name. He made a mental note to himself to go check out his personal room after he met with Lux.

Opening the door, Jaxs peered inside. Sitting on a plush bed was his district partner Lux, her short black hair pulled up into a small pony tail. She was eagerly shoving food into her mouth.

"You wanted me?" Jaxs asked as he stepped into the room. Lux glanced upwards to meet his dull green gaze. She gave him a warm smile and placed the tray of food down on the bed before standing to her feet. She quickly made her way over to him and extended her hand in greeting.

"Lux Ward, pleasure to meet you," she chimed as he took her hand and shook it tight. For a small girl—he guessed about 5'1" or 5'2", she had a surprisingly strong handshake.

"Jaxs Williamson, and likewise," he responded in the same monotone voice he always used when greeting others.

Lux only smiled again and made her way to the far corner of the room where a golden table with three equally golden chairs sat. She took a seat and motioned for Jaxs to follow.

Jaxs obediently did, making his way over to the table and taking a seat.

"So," Lux began, a large smile still plastered on her face. "Since we don't have a mentor, I w—"

"We actually do," Jaxs interrupted. "It's Yavanna, she's from the Capitol."

Lux coughed and tried to maintain her smile, yet it was falling slightly. "She doesn't count. Like you said, she's from the Capitol. She doesn't know a thing about the games—she's only here for the publicity."

Jaxs nodded his head slowly and Lux continued to talk. "Anyways, since we don't have a _real_ mentor, I was thinking we take matters into our own hands. If you remember my speech during the reaping, I said I wanted to bring glory and a victor to District Five. I think you can help me with that. I suggest we make an alliance together. I'll be the brains of the alliance, and you will be the—"

Lux paused, trying to think of something to say. Yet, she seemed rather stumped.

"The brawn?" Jaxs asked.

Lux nodded and began to study him. She looked slightly concerned when she glanced at his thin arms, but didn't protest. "Yes, the brawn." She said, yet there was some uncertainty to her voice.

She continued nonetheless. "Together we'd make a good team. What do you say, Jaxs?"

Jaxs nodded his head mutely. Like the obedient person he was, he accepted the offer. After all, he didn't know how to say no.

* * *

 _District Six_

 _Tesserae Bird, 15._

As she stepped onto the train belonging to the same people who killed her mother even when she begged for mercy, she had no regrets. She understood that her actions had consequences—but to her, it was all worth it. Knowing she'd saved countless families from starvation and given hungry children an extra meal was enough. She knew that someday she'd have to pay for how much she'd stolen. _Today was the day._ She heard the door shut behind her and didn't even think about looking back.

Her brown eyes widened as she glanced around the train. Chandeliers studded with glittering diamonds hung high above her head while a velvet carpet the color of crimson lay below her feet. Tables and chairs of pure gold were scattered about the cart. She listened as her district partner gasped at the sight.

It was beautiful, yet she knew it was all a cunning disguise. They stacked food miles high so tributes could eat away their worries. They hung paintings on the walls and filled the train with luxurious items so the tributes could forget where the train was taking them. _To their deaths._

"If either of you would like to talk strategy, I'll be in the dining cart," Buick, their mentor, announced. He then exited the cart without another word.

Tesserae blinked her eyes a few times. She had no desire to go talk strategy. She had already decided her strategy long ago. She wasn't going to turn into a monster like the capitol wanted. No, she was going to continue to be herself until her very last breath.

"It's Tesserae, right?" Raleigh asked, snapping her out of her trance. Tesserae nodded her head and turned towards him with a smile.

"Yeah. Tesserae Bird," she responded.

"Tesserae Bird is an interesting name," Raleigh continued. "Did your parents give it to you, or is it a nickname of sorts?"

Tesserae gulped, her brown gaze going cloudy for a moment. Images of her mother being dragged out of her house against her will by Capitol soldiers filled her eyes. Her screams and pleads of mercy filled her ears. "It's not my real name," was all she could manage to say.

"Then what is it? A nickname?" Raleigh inquired.

"It's a nickname I gave to myself in a way. But it's also on official records, if that makes sense."

Raleigh looked slightly confused, and continued to ask more questions. "If you don't mind me asking, do you take tesserae for yourself and your family? Because that would be so ironic, with your name and all."

Tesserae glanced away, her gaze going foggy once more. She didn't like to tell people what she did with her extra tesserae, as she liked it to be anonymous. That way no one would thank her or give it back. "It's complicated."

Raleigh's face now displayed a very confused expression. "Alright then. I'll be with Buick if you need me."

Nodding, Tesserae watched as he exited the car in search of Buick. Sometimes she wished she could tell people the truth, but it was better this way. Being a true rebel meant thinking of others before yourself, and she needed to be selfless. Even when she scared away potential friends and went hungry for days on end, she knew she was making the right choice.

"I repent nothing."

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16._

"So, what skills do you have?" Buick asked Raleigh from the other side of the long golden table.

Raleigh pondered to himself for a minute, trying to think of any skills he knew that could be useful in the game. Growing up in what many would call a suburban town, he had little knowledge of plants or any outdoors skills. The most contact he had ever had with nature was when he and Arial had slept outside in his backyard as a dare. He also had never cooked in his life, as his mother made all of his meals for him. He didn't know how to make a fire or tie knots, and painting was out of the question.

"I can climb?" Raleigh responded uncertainly. He thought back to the times when Arial and him had climbed the trains in the train yard and began to feel a bit homesick.

"Good, if it's a forest arena you have an advantage." Buick responded with a smile. He paused a moment, his smile quickly fading. "But if it's a desert, you're dead. What else?"

"I know how to ride a bike," Raleigh chuckled. He knew for certain that there would be no bikes in the arena. "And I can run pretty fast."

"Running is a good skill to have, but I don't think there will be any bikes in the arena. Sorry to disappoint you. Any weapon skills, like knifework?"

Raleigh shook his head. "No. I've used a knife like once or twice when my friends and I were fooling around, but that's where it ends."

"Anything that would translate into a weapons skill? Are you strong? Do you have a good arm or good hand eye coordination?" Buick asked, his hope fading slightly.

Raleigh grinned, nodding his head. "Actually, Arial and I used to throw this weird leather ball around that I found in a dumpster. We made a game out of it, trying to throw it through rings we made out of old tires. I was pretty good at it—I beat him almost every time."

Buick clapped his hands together, startling Raleigh. He jumped up in his seat, glancing around nervously. "Perfect! I bet you'll be good at throwing spears then! I'd recommend practicing that in training until you are decent with it—which shouldn't be too hard since you already have an alright arm. You should probably also go to survival skill stations since it is apparent you have very little skills in that area."

Raleigh nodded his head with a grin. "So I'm not hopeless?"

Taking a sip of a mysterious purple drink in his hand, Buick laughed. "Not entirely. I'd give you a half and half chance of surviving the first day."

"What about my chance of winning? I do want to go home, after all."

Contemplating the idea for a few minutes, Buick sipped his drink again. "I don't think you want to hear those odds, kid. With the trained tributes now, we outer district tributes have a decreased chance of winning. The only reason I won is because I did something stupid that should have gotten me killed, but miraculously didn't."

"I'm not afraid to take risks," Raleigh insisted.

"Good. Then I'd give you a 1-in-30 shot."

He'd won with less.

* * *

 _District Seven_

 _Tristan Juniper, 12._

Sniffling, Tristan clutched a small piece of bark his sister Millie had given him during the goodbyes. He remember the time they had found it, a few years back in the woods. The two had been racing to their favorite meeting spot, Apple Rock, when Tristan had tripped over a root in the ground. He fell to the ground and had scrapped his knee. He remembered he had been bawling his eyes out as fresh red blood poured out of the open wound. To make him feel better, Millie picked up a piece of bark she found on the ground next to him. She'd said it looked like a dragon—and in some sense—it did a little bit. It had the rough outline of a head with small spokes that looked like scales. It also had what appeared to be a tail and wings, yet it was a bit of a stretch. She said that if he was ever hurt or sad, he could just pretend he was in a different world with magical dragons.

Now, as he held back tears, he ran his small finger along the dragon's scales. He closed his eyes tight, trying to imagine himself in a different world where he wasn't heading to the games. He imagined himself sitting next to Millie, the sky a bright shade of blue. Above them a large dragon loomed overhead, and the two giggled as it flapped its wings.

Yet, he couldn't pretend forever. The dragon flew away, and with it—Millie. He was now all alone, sitting under a sky a bright shade of blue. Clouds began to fill the sky, turning it an ominous shade of grey. Tristan glanced around for some shelter—yet there was none everywhere he looked. He screamed for his sister, yet she didn't return. She never would.

Hard rain began to cascade down from the grey sky. It hit his skin with a stinging pain. He continued to scream for his sister—yet she still was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes lurched open and the brown bark clattered to the ground. Tristan raised a hand to his cheeks, realizing they were wet with salty tears. _How much longer could be pretend?_ He knew deep down inside he'd never see his sister or his home again. He'd never again see the massive pine trees that seemed to stretch on to infinity. He'd never feel the sharp wind on his face as he raced to Apple Rock beside his sister. He'd never again see his parents or his small and humble house.

No twelve year old had ever won. Most of the time, they died in the bloodbath. Few made it to the second and third day, while none had ever made it to the fourth. An impossible task lay in front of him, and he knew he couldn't pretend it was doable.

Bending down to pick up the small piece of bark, he once again ran his fingers along it. He wished he was a dragon so he could just fly away. Yet, he wasn't. He was done pretending. If he was going to make it far into the games, he'd have to accept reality.

There were no such things as dragons, and he wasn't making it home.

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16._

Celeste stood in her own personal bathroom, a luxury she'd never before had before this moment. Although her family was on the richer side of the spectrum in District Seven, they all had to share one small bathroom between the four of them. The bathroom she stood in now was as big as her bedroom, probably 10x10 feet.

"Celeste, look at that soap, isn't it so cool?" She spoke to herself, trying to take her mind off what was really happening. She shuffled towards the sink nervously, her hands trembling with anxiety. When she reached the sink, she picked up the large bottle of soap on the counter and held it in her hands.

On the soap bottle there was a small touch screen, about half the size of the palm of her hand. She squinted her eyes, examining the screen closely. On the screen were the words: touch to begin. Curiously, Celeste touched the soap bottle and the screen shifted to a keyboard. Above the keyboard it told Celeste to type in her favorite smell.

 _What was her favorite smell?_ She'd never thought about that before. She liked the smell of freshly baked bread; the smell of springtime flowers; the smell of her sister's hair after she washed it. Yet right now, feeling slightly homesick, she typed in the words: pine trees.

The screen once again changed, the word _ready_ now taking up the majority of the screen. Celeste squirted the soap into her hand and raised it to her nose. Her eyes widened when she realized it smelled exactly like the pine forests of her home district.

For the next hour or so, Celeste played around with different devices in the bathroom, trying desperately to take her mind off the games. She was absolutely terrified of them, yet for now, she pretended she wasn't going to die in the next few weeks. Instead, she played with the interactive soap bottle, changed the mirror's shape, and bathed in a bath filled with purple water. When she was drying herself off she heard a knock on the door.

Slipping on a pair of clothes provided by the Capitol, Celeste made her way over to the door. She cracked it open, surprised by who was standing on the other side.

"Hey Tristan," Celeste smiled, cracking the door open wider. "Do you want to come in?"

Tristan nodded his head, stepping into the luxurious bathroom. "This place is so cool!" He exclaimed with wide brown eyes. Celeste nodded in agreement.

"You have one too you know," Celeste informed her district partner, whose eyes only grew wider. "But you can stay in here if you like."

"Do you mind if I stay here? I just want someone to talk to, I don't like being alone. It makes me sad," Tristan murmured.

Celeste nodded her head. She agreed that it would be nice to have someone to keep her company, even if it was only for a while. "Come here, I'll show you something really cool," Celeste called Tristan over to the sink.

Tristan happily walked over, stopping beside Celeste at the sink. Celeste noticed he was pretty tall for a twelve year old, coming to about her chin. He had tanned skin and dark eyes like herself, and his hair was the same dark brown hue as her own. They could possibly be mistaken for siblings. "Smell this."

She squirted a small blob of soap onto Tristan's hand. He lifted it to his nose, his lips instantly curling into a smile upon sniffing it. "It smells just like pine trees," he giggled.

"Yeah, you can change it to whatever smell you want," she replied with a smile.

Tristan's eyes widened, and he began to type in letters on the keyboard. "That's so cool!" He exclaimed happily, eagerly squirting different smells on his hand.

Celeste smiled wider, glancing down at Tristan. She liked this kid, his immense curiosity reminded her of her sister. Yet, she didn't think she could ally with him. She knew twelve year olds wouldn't make it far—and he would hinder more than help her.

Then, as if she jinxed it, the dreaded question came. "Hey," Tristan began, his voice displaying a bit of uncertainty. "Do you want to be allies?"

Celeste gulped, her eyes now going wide. She glanced down at Tristan, meeting his uncertain gaze with her own guilty one. She watched as his smile began to fade and fear began to replace his uncertainty. She couldn't turn him down. Without her, he would surely die. Regretfully, she took him up on his offer.

"Sure, I'd love to."

* * *

 _District Eight_

 _Grace Peterson, 18._

 _Why her?_ Of all the people in District Eight, why did it have to be her? She had seen more bloodshed then most had in a lifetime, why did she have to go see more? She had dedicated her life to healing others at the hospital, and now, she was forced to hurt others.

Her sister surely would have been a better choice. She was strong, athletic, brave, and not afraid to do what had to be done. She would kill if she really needed to to get home to her family. At eighteen, they both had taken one tesserae per year. They had an equal chance of being reaped, so why did it have to be Grace?

Grace had made a vow many years ago after her father died never to hurt anyone again. She had seen what violence had done to her district. It had ripped apart families and destroyed entire households. It didn't discriminate, it took and it took and it took. She had even been victim of it herself. Her father had been killed in a bombing by the Capitol all those years ago. The war had destroyed her mother, causing her to be forever crippled.

The war should have been enough for the bloodthirsty Capitol. They killed thousands and forever scared hundreds of thousands more, including her. Yet, it wasn't enough. They needed to create the games to further torture the citizens of Panem who already knew their place. They already knew what would happen if they defied the Capitol. Still, the Capitol had a notion that the people didn't remember. They believed the people would forget. _Yet, who could forget war?_

She picked up a golden plate from the table beside her, holding it in her hands for a second. She examined it slowly, running her coarse hands over its rim. The plate was gorgeous. Then, she threw it to the ground. It shattered into a million tiny pieces, tiny gold flecks scattered all over the cart. _That was what the Capitol did to District Eight. They took something beautiful and destroyed it._

An avox quickly scurried to a small closet and returned with a broom. He began to sweep it up, yet the plate would never return to its former beauty. It would never be whole again. _District Eight would never be whole again. She would never be whole again._

Angrily, Grace turned back towards the table. With a violent swing, she knocked all the food off the table. Plates clattered to the ground and shattered while the food splattered all over the red carpet. Grace smiled. Looking at a camera embedded into a wall, she began to speak.

"That is what I think of your games," she hissed into the camera. Narrowing her eyes, she gave a death stare to whoever was watching her. Then, out of nowhere, two strong hands grabbed her arms tightly. She screamed and attempted to wriggle from their grasp, yet her effort was to no avail. She was dragged along the red carpet against her will.

After a few minutes of being dragged, she was pushed into a room with no windows and a single door. Behind her, the door locked tight. She banged on it with a strong fist, yet it did not budge.

"Let me out!" She screamed. "Let me out! Let me out! I'm trapped! You can't keep me in here forever!"

Yet, no one came. She slumped to the ground in defeat. Yet, she couldn't let the Capitol win. She couldn't. They had stripped her of so much, and she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

* * *

 _Merino Jones, 13._

He found it strange he wasn't upset about going to the games. As he watched the reaping recaps, he saw countless people cry, while others completely freaked out. Even those with stone-faced expressions seemed to be at least a bit nervous, but not him. Death was more than prevalent in his life, and it no longer fazed him.

The door to the television cart creaked open. Merino glanced towards it, spotting a purple haired woman saunter through the door. His eyes widened at her long eyelashes, which were about a foot long. She had bright purple lipstick and dark eyeshadow, and shot Merino a disgusted glance as she passed him.

"What are you looking at?" She growled, narrowing her makeup covered eyes at Merino. Merino couldn't help himself from giggling.

"You," he replied honestly, pointing a finger at the eccentric woman. She only twisted her face in disgust.

Scoffing, she raised her chin. "I personally think you are the one to be stared at. Just look at you! You are as thin as a twig. And your skin is littered with acne and dirt. Just look in a mirror boy!" She jeered.

Merino chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "I don't own any mirrors, sorry."

"Then at least go to the food cart and get some meat on those bones. You won't survive a minute in the games with arms as thin as yours." She replied, running a long and bony finger through her hair.

Merino's eyes widened. "There's a food cart?" He squawked, his jaw dropping. The woman nodded her head and blinked her eyes a few times.

"Of course. What train doesn't have a food cart?" She asked him, tilting her head in slight confusion.

"Trains in District Eight!" Merino exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He darted past the purple haired Capitolite and pushed open the door. He ran through a few carts, eagerly searching for the food. Yet, after a few minutes, he realized he was lost. Maybe he should have asked the woman for directions.

After wandering the train for a few more minutes, Merino finally located the food cart. His eyes widened when he saw the spectacle that lay in front of him. A mountain of food stacked feet high loomed over his head. He gasped and began to take random items off the table, stuffing them in his mouth and swallowing them whole.

He had never before had the luxury of eating until he was full. In District Eight, he was lucky if he went to bed with a semi-full stomach. Most of the food he ate was stolen from people with too much, and now, he didn't know how to control himself. All the food was so good. He ate and ate until he couldn't stuff another cupcake in his mouth.

Within a few minutes, he began to feel nauseous. He had definitely eaten too much. The next hour he spent throwing up in the bathroom cart. Then, when he was done, he returned to the food cart to eat more.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Almost done with the train rides! I feel like these are marathons to write, lol. Next up is 9-12, then I'll have a little stylist chapter before the chariot rides. Super excited for training and what not!**

 **Questions: What POV did you like the best? Any predictions? Do you like some of the alliances forming? Favorite tribute so far?**

 **Speaking of favorite tributes, the poll on my profile is still open. If you haven't yet, I'd appreciate it if you would vote. It will affect who we see more/maybe game placements.**

 **until next time,**

 **paper :)**


	19. Train Rides 9-12: Voices of Regret

_Train Rides 9-12: Voices of Regret_

* * *

 _District Nine_

 _Draven Sinveil, 18._

He had never meant to do it. He only wanted to make his uncle feel his pain, give him a few bruises here and there. After all, his uncle had been doing it to him for the past ten years of his life. Hit after hit, Draven never protested; he never fought back.

Two weeks ago, he'd had enough of his uncles constant battering. His bruises were growing darker and his cuts were growing more painful. The scars were fading slower. So he fought back. He had never meant to do it. He never meant to kill his uncle.

When he went to bed that night, Draven just though his uncle was unconscious. After his uncle's relentless beatings he often went unconscious too, so he didn't know the difference. He had no idea his uncle was dead, drowning in a pool of his own red blood.

He still thought little of it when he woke up the next morning. _He is just hung over,_ Draven told himself. His uncle was a heavy drinker and rarely woke up until after the sun had pinnacled in the sky. So, Draven went off to work in the fields, not thinking about it twice.

When he arrived home that night, his uncle's body was still as limp as he'd left it that morning. Draven began to worry, and by morning, he knew his uncle wasn't waking up. Draven had killed him. Yet, oddly enough, he didn't feel guilty. _His uncle had practically brought him to the brink of death, wasn't what he was doing just payback for his actions?_

Draven didn't just not feel guilty. He enjoyed it as he punched his uncle's face over and over again that fateful night. It felt good to let his anger out. _What was the harm if the victim was a sadistic man with no regard for other human beings? Wasn't Draven doing the world a favor by killing him?_

He had hid the body in his house for a few weeks under the bed. No one really noticed, his uncle had no friends and no family besides Draven. Yet, the neighbors began to get suspicious. Draven knew his time was running out, and within a few weeks he would probably be rounded up by peacekeepers and convicted of murder. Then he too would be dead. The games gave him a chance—a chance to live. Plus, he had secretly enjoyed killing his uncle. He might enjoy killing these tributes too.

So, he volunteered the day of the reaping. No questions were asked, yet he knew people were confused. There had only been a handful of outer district volunteers in the games and all had good reason. They all were probably wondering what his reason was. He guessed none were even close to the truth.

Draven watched with narrowed eyes as Abrielle, his district partner, entered and exited the train car. He didn't plan on any allies, he had never been much of a people person anyways. His uncle had ruined relationships for him. Even if he was considering allies, he would never pick Abrielle. She cried at the reaping, and just by looking at her, you could tell she wasn't made for these games.

He sighed and slumped back against the wall behind him. Everyone he had ever been close with was dead. His brother, his father, his uncle, and probably his mother. His mind then drifted to his mother, a woman he had despised ever since she ran away from him and left him with his uncle. He had always tried to be different from her and face his problems head on instead of running away.

Yet, as he stood here now, he realized by volunteering, he was running away from his problems. Without even realizing it he had become the monster he forever tried to not be.

* * *

 _Abrielle Mariani, 15._

Even now, hours after she said goodbye to her family and life as she knew it, tears still relentlessly streamed down her face. Although she was trying to stay hopeful, she knew that she probably would never see the golden fields of District Nine ever again. She would never again watch the crimson sunset from the window of her room as she secretly painted, nor attempt to flirt with her crush who never really noticed her until today. Her father would never again chastise her for not doing her work, and she'd never again lift a paint brush to an easel. Her and her sister would never again play tag in the fields after dark, and her and her best friend would never trap blinking fireflies in jars on hot summer nights.

She sat in the back of a train, glancing out a floor-to-ceiling window at the landscape that the train was leaving behind. The land was growing hillier, unlike the endless flat plains of her home. Trees were more prevalent now, yet everything was really a blur. They were moving far too fast for her to pick out anything in particular. They had long left District Nine, and were nearing the Capitol. The escort informed her they'd arrive within the hour.

Saying she was nervous for the games was an understatement. She was absolutely terrified for them. The idea of death frightened her, and she didn't think she'd have to face it for a while. She was young, she didn't think she'd have to worry about it for at least another 40 years. Yet, life had other plans. She stood and tore her gaze away from the window.

Walking through the train, she eventually reached her private room. She slid open the door and jumped back in surprise when she discovered what was inside. A large easel stood in the middle of the room, various paints beside it. A blank white canvas sat on the wooden easel. In front of it a note.

 _To ease your anxiety—N._

Abrielle's eyes widened. She read the note over and over again, not believing her eyes. _How did this get here? Who is N? Why did they give it to her? How did N know she liked to paint?_

Various questions ran through her mind, yet she could not find any answers. It was as if the easel mysteriously appeared from thin air, a figment of her imagination. Abrielle ran her fingers along the rough canvas to make sure it wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her. It wasn't. It was real.

Bending down to pick up a tube of paint, Abrielle located the brushes on a nightstand beside the bed. She quickly unscrewed the cap of the tube and squirted it out onto a pallet also provided to her by this mysterious donator. She kept wondering if she'd mentioned anything about painting that day—anything to give this N person a hint.

She frowned, remembering something her friend said to her during her goodbyes. "If there is an easel there, use it. I know you paint to relax, and maybe it will help you come home."

Abrielle swore under her breath. People had been spying on her from the moment she'd been reaped. This was so surreal, the whole idea of people watching her every move. She felt a shiver run down her back as she located a camera on the far side of the room.

Slightly creeped out, she decided to make the best of the situation. She dipped her brush into the blob of paint and began to do what she did best: paint. For those few minutes, nothing else mattered except for the canvas in the brush. For a little while she was able to escape reality and temporarily forget she wasn't being carted to her certain doom.

* * *

 _District Ten_

 _Marena Combe, 17._

"You have a chance, you've learned things on the farm you can use," Marena murmured to herself as she sat alone in the dining cart.

Running through a mental list in her head, she attempted to comprise a list of everything she was good at. _Tying Knots. Running. Endurance. Making friends. Bull Riding._ She couldn't help add the last one in there for laughs.

"See, you got this," she continued to speak to herself. "You aren't completely useless. Some other tributes probably have no skills, right?"

"Right," a voice answered from across the room. Marena jumped in her seat, warily looking around for the origin of the voice. She spotted Chance approaching her and gave him a half smile.

He returned the smile and took a seat in the chair beside her. "You startled me!" Marena exclaimed once he took a seat. Chance only laughed.

"Yeah, I do that sometimes," Chance grinned, reclining back in his seat. His gaze went cloudy for a second, as if he was thinking of something or someone. Then, as if it never happen, it returned to its normal light shade of brown.

Marena blinked her eyes a few times, glancing down at her hands. "So, did you want to talk to me or something?"

Chance shrugged his shoulders. "I guess. I was just lonely in my room is all. At home I'm always surrounded by people, but here—there isn't really anyone to be surrounded by. Just those creepy avoxes who stand and corners and stare at you like they've never seen anyone from District Ten before in their lives."

She couldn't help herself from laughing. "Yeah, they are pretty creepy. Like, can't they talk or something?"

Chance narrowed his eyes at Marena, a bit confused. "You know, the reason they are called avoxes is because they can't talk."

Marena brushed him off, acting as if she already knew that. Her lips then curved into a wide smile. "I knew that. I was just playing with you. I guess you are gullible, huh?" she chimed.

Chance nodded his head. "You could say that," he trilled.

Marena nodded her head, an eerie silence educing. "Hey, you want to see me balance those plates on my head?" She asked, breaking the quiet stillness of the room.

Chance nodded his head rapidly. "You bet!"

Marena eagerly leapt to her feet, making her way over to a table stacked with food. On the far side were a stack of golden plates. She picked on up in her hand, holding it there for a moment. She realized she had never touched something so valuable in her life. Shrugging her shoulders, she placed the first on her head.

"One!" She announced. Chance clapped his hands.

She placed another on her head, the first wobbling slightly. "Two!" Chance clapped faster, beginning to cheer her name eagerly.

Marena picked up a third, the plates on her head wobbling slightly. She gulped, closing her eyes and placing a third on her head. Miraculously, it stayed.

"Three!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air in celebration. Yet, as she did so, her head tilted back and the plates all slid off. They clattered to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected the plates to shatter—the floor was carpet after all.

Chance began to laugh uncontrollably. Soon enough, Marena joined in, the two filling the once silent room with giggles. It was strange to think in two weeks, at least one of them would be dead.

* * *

 _Chance Marrow, 17._

He never imagined this morning that he would be sitting on a train, 250 miles from his house, laughing with a girl he didn't know before the reaping who could possibly be his killer. Yet, many things about the Hunger Games were strange. He learned not to question it and just go with the norm.

An avox was sweeping up the plates that had just broken in front of Marena's feet. Marena was still giggling, bending down to pick up a few golden shards that the avox had yet to sweep up and throwing them in the air as if they were confetti. Laughter still streamed out of Chance's mouth.

Then, behind him, a door swung open. All six eyes in the room quickly glanced towards the doorway. In walked their mentor, Rufus, clutching a beer bottle in his left hand. The once laughter filled room returned to silence once again she he began to speak.

"What the hell happened in here?" Rufus questioned, narrowing his eyes at the two tributes. "It looks like our escort threw up all over the ground and gave you two laughing gas."

Marena held back a chuckle. Rufus shot her a glare, instantly shutting her up.

"We were just eating," Chance lied, giving his grumpy mentor a fake smile. "Marena was just going to the buffet to get some dessert when she dropped her plate."

"If you were eating," Rufus grumbled, glancing at the table in front of Chance, "where is your food?"

"I uh—ate it all, sir. I can eat things in one whole bite, so I don't really uh—need a plate." Chance stuttered, glancing at his mentor with wide eyes. He didn't want to really get on his mentors bad side, and he knew if Rufus found out they were messing around, he wouldn't like them too much.

"Oh really?" Rufus asked, raising an eyebrow. Chance nodded his head swiftly, verifying his claim.

"Yeah," Marena pipped in, joining the lie. "I saw him. He's a—uh—he—uh—participates in food eating contests—so—uh—he's—uh—he's really good at it!"

His mentor nodded his head slowly, taking a sip of his beer. "Really?" He asked in disbelief. "You must show me, if you are _so_ good at it then."

His mentor gestured towards the buffet table, pointing to a large sandwich on top of a silver plate. Chance gulped, his eyes widening when he saw it. He liked to eat, but he didn't know if he'd be able to swallow that thing quickly.

"What? Were you two lying to me?" His mentor asked when Chance didn't respond right away. Chance glanced at Marena who seemed to be looking guiltily at her shuffling feet.

"No, no sir, I can eat it," he replied with a smile. Standing to his feet, Chance made his way over to the buffet table. He eyed the sandwich curiously, then picked it up in his hand. Marena gave him a quick reassuring smile as if to tell him he could do it. The avox only continued to sweep the floor.

With a gulp, Chance took a monstrous bite of the sandwich. He chewed it rapidly, swallowing it within a few seconds. _It tasted amazing._ Taking another bite, this time more eagerly, he chewed the sandwich fast again and swallowed it within a few more seconds. He continued to do so until the entire sandwich had vanished.

"19 seconds, not bad." His mentor chuckled. "I guess you were telling the truth."

Chance smiled, glancing to his district partner. Her eyes were wide with awe, and she too was smiling.

"Man, that was badass." She beamed. "Teach me how to do that sometime, will you?"

Chance chuckled, nodding his head. "Only if you teach me how to balance those plates on my head. I think that was pretty badass."

"Sure thing," Marena clucked. "Alliance?"

Chance nodded his head, happy she offered. He really did like her, she seemed pretty fun. "We can be called the badasses."

"Most definitely. With your ability to eat sandwiches in record time, and my ability to balance plates on my head, we will be unstoppable."

The two gave each other a high five before breaking out into another fit of laughter. Chance didn't think he'd find a friend so quickly in the games, but then again, the Hunger Games were a strange thing.

* * *

 _District Eleven_

 _Basil Anderson, 12._

He swung his skinny legs back and forth, trying to entertain himself. From what others had told him, he thought the train ride would be a blast. He envisioned hundreds of people mulling about in an excited chatter—like a party almost. Yet, in reality, the train ride was anything but a party. Yes, there was an excessive amount of food, more then he had probably eaten in his entire life. From the dazzling chandeliers to the expensive furniture and paintings that lined the interior walls of the train—there was plenty of decor too.

However, the train was missing a key ingredient to a good party. People. From the time he had entered the train to now, he had only seen three or four people. The list included his mentor, an eccentric man who had little interest in him; two avoxes who couldn't talk even if they wanted to; the escort, another eccentric Capitolite who was more interested in his own appearance then Basil. His district partner was no where to be seen. He guessed she didn't know there was a lame party where no one was talking down in the dining cart.

Standing to his feet, Basil decided to inform her. He thought that maybe she would spice up the party. He traveled through various carts, eagerly searching for Velicity. As we walked, he couldn't help but wonder what she would be like. _Friendly? Charming? Kind?_ He decided she was probably all three.

Eventually the small boy ended up in front of a door with Velicity's name carved into it in golden letters. He ran his rough and calloused fingers along her name, studying it intently. It was a pretty name, very fitting for the joyous girl he guessed was probably eagerly waiting for him behind the door. With an excited grin, Basil cracked open the door.

Inside sat Velicity, a dark skinned girl with short black hair. Her sunken eyes were fixed on a random point on the wall opposite Basil. They displayed deep bags under them, as if she hadn't slept in weeks. Her lips were curved into an unhappy frown. Basil guessed she was just miserable because she was alone. He often felt that way when he was without the company of other people. Once she saw him her smile would surely turn upside down.

"Hey," Basil chimed. Velicity only blinked at the wall in response, not bothering to turn and greet him.

He guessed she hadn't heard him, and decided to talk louder. "Hi, I'm Basil." He cooed.

Velicity blinked her cloudy eyes again, still not bothering to acknowledge him. Basil giggled, deciding she probably just had bad hearing. He proceeded to skip across the room towards her, humming a joyous tune as he did so.

"Hey, I'm Basil," he practically yelled as he waved a hand in front of her face. "You're Velicity, right?"

Velicity still didn't respond, yet she turned her head to face him. Her gaze narrowed and her lips only curved farther into a frown. It was if she was giving him a death stare.

"It's okay, I don't bite," Basil continued happily, deciding she was probably just grumpy because she had been reaped earlier that morning. He had been a bit sad when it had happened too, yet he had recovered from the original shock of it since. Now he was only trying to make the best of his situation by meeting people and having a good time.

"But I do," Velicity hissed. She parted her jaw then snapped her teeth closed, imitating a biting motion.

Basil only laughed. "Hey, that was funny! You just be a jokester, no?"

"I don't joke," Velicity glared at him. "So get out of my sight before I bite you for real."

Basil nodded his head quickly, turning to leave the room. He closed the door behind him with a large grin.

She would warm up to him.

* * *

 _Velicity Peach, 14._

She wished she had been able to tell Rosa and Milla how she felt before she left. Yet, she couldn't. During the goodbyes she felt herself at a loss for words just as she always did. She never was able to tell Milla she loved her, or that she was forever grateful that she had adopted her after her parents were executed. She also never told Rosa that she had indeed wanted to open up to her—to tell her about all the pain and hurt she was carrying inside of her. They had both been so kind to her, yet she had never returned the favor.

The wall in front of her was as white as fresh snow. There were no stains; no blemishes; no nothing. The wall was white, like a canvas ready to be painted on or a slate that had been wiped clean.

Velicity knew if her slate was as white as the wall, she wouldn't be heading to the Capitol right now. It didn't take a fool to know that the President had been reaping the children of infamous District Eleven rebels for the past ten years. After all, the president wanted revenge. It was a District Eleven rebel that had killed her mother and ripped her family apart. She wanted revenge, and wouldn't stop until all the rebels were dead.

"Velicity," she heard a distant voice murmur.

The dark skinned girl shut her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I told you to go away Basil," she spat.

Yet, when she glanced towards the doorway, it was sealed shut. Basil was nowhere to be seen in the small room.

"Velicity, you have been reaped for a reason," the voice continued, growing louder. Velicity grunted and slammed her foot down on the ground.

The mysterious voice laughed. "Don't be angry. You are being transported first class to the Capitol. You don't even have to lift a finger Velicity, unlike us. We paid with our lives to attempt to get to the Capitol, and you get to go for free."

Velicity squinted her eyes. "Go away," she snarled, banging a fist against her head.

"No," the voice continued like a pestersome bug. "You must carry out our dreams Velicity. You must get revenge on the Capitol. They killed your parents, your own flesh and blood. Blood must have blood Velicity. Surely you know that best, after all the Capitol took from you. Don't you crave revenge? Don't you crave to splatter their blood all over the ground? Don't you want to make their streets run red with it?"

"Stop!" Velicity screeched, clasping her two hands over her ears. "You were shortsighted fools for thinking you could overturn the Capitol! Get the hell out of my head!"

The voice chuckled again, growing even louder. "We did this for you Velicity. Can't you do something for us?"

Velicity's cheeks began to wet with tears. "Leave me alone," she cried, any strength she once had gone.

"We will once you avenge our deaths. Remember, we aren't the enemy Velicity," the voice murmured before disappearing.

Tears continued to stream down her face. She blinked at the wall once again, yet it was no longer white. It was as red as the crimson blood that bled out of her parents when they were executed; as red as the crimson blood they demanded her to spill.

Perhaps if only she had opened up to Rosa, or even confided in Milla, the pain she carried on her shoulders wouldn't be so heavy. But the Hunger Games weren't a place for regrets, and the voice in her head was as pressuring as ever.

"Blood must have blood," it spoke again before disappearing for what she hoped would be forever.

* * *

 _District Twelve_

 _Arilli Carr, 15._

 _Breathe._ White knight to f7. _Breathe._ Black rook to b7. _Breathe._ White pawn to A4. _Breathe._ Black queen to d8. Check. _Breathe._ White king to e9. _Breathe._ Black rook to f7. White knight is captured. _Breathe._ White queen to d2. _Breathe._ Black bishop to a3. Checkmate. _Breathe._

Arilli reclined back in her chair, taking a deep breath in through her nose. She had never been outside of her room for this long since the fateful day where the rebels had attacked her and changed her life for the worse. To add onto her anxiety, the peacekeepers had confiscated her knife and had refused to give it back. It was her only safety net, and now that too was gone.

Her uncle had pleaded with the president on the phone for an hour after she had been reaped. He claimed that Arilli had already been through so much; suffered more than most would in a lifetime. _Why did she of all people have to go to the games?_ Her uncle had questioned. She was an avid capitol supporter, and was a rebel in no way. There were plenty of rebels in the district, a handful of which were eligible to be reaped. _Why couldn't the president rig the reapings here like she did in Eleven and Eight?_ He asked. She had only responded that next year she would think about it. Taking Arilli out of contention would upset the rebels even more. She claimed it would perhaps even start another uprising. Then, she had hung up the phone without another word.

Arilli began to tremble, glancing around warily. Without her knife, she felt vulnerable. Although the escort dressed in her least favorite color—yellow—had told her not to worry, she still was. _Only her, Cinder, their mentor, him, and a handful of avoxes were on the train,_ he claimed. Yet, something inside her told her not to let down her guard.

The door creaked open behind her. Arilli jumped to her feet, sliding a hand into her pocket out of habit. However, when she slid it out, it didn't hold a knife as it usually did. She swore under her breath.

"Who is it?" She yelped, backing into the corner of the room in fright. _What if it was a rebel trying to kill her?_

"Cinder," a voice on the other side of the door replied. Arilli sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly _. It wasn't someone trying to kill her. Not yet at least._

"C-come in," Arilli stuttered, still a bit out of sorts. The door opened further and in walked Cinder, her district partner. His grey eyes—a normality for most seam dwellers—widened when he saw her. Arilli guessed he was probably a bit shocked to see her scarred face. Most people were when they first spotted her.

Cinder weakly smiled. "I was just wondering if you wanted anything from the dining cart. We've been on the train for a few hours, and you haven't left your room yet, so I just guessed you were hungry and stuff."

Nodding her head, Arilli took a step forwards. "Yeah, I actually did want something. Could you uh—possibly get me a knife from the dining cart?"

Cinder tilted his head to the side in confusion, yet didn't protest. He silently exited the cart and within a few minutes, came back with a silver knife. Like most things on the train, it sparkled in the bright light of the room.

"Thanks," Arilli cooed. She extended her arm outwards, grasping the knife in her hand tightly. All of a sudden, she felt much more at ease.

"Yeah, no problem. I always like to help others out," Cinder chirped. "Tell me if you need anything else, alright?"

Arilli nodded her head, turning back to the table with the chess board. Her district partner seemed really sweet, almost like her friend Layla from back home. He made her feel strangely comfortable. Cinder began to make his way towards the door, yet before he could exit the room, Arilli stopped him.

"Hey, do you want to play chess with me?" She blurted out. With the exception of her uncle, Arilli never invited anyone to play chess with her. Yet, for some strange reason, she felt compelled to ask Cinder.

"I don't know how to play."

"It's alright, I'll teach you," Arilli replied. For the first time in a long time, she felt herself smile.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14._

He had always loved to learn new things. When his mother had chosen to be silent after their father had become deaf in the war, he had been eager to learn sign language to be able to communicate with him. When he enrolled in school, he was excited to learn about addition and how to read. When he met a new person, he always yearned to learn their story. Everyone was so different, so interesting. But the girl sitting across from him at the table was the most interesting of all.

He had long heard stories about the mysterious mayor's niece who only came out of her room on reaping days. A girl who had had half her face burned off in an attack; a girl who was apparently a chess legend. Never had he thought he would met this girl. Yet, as fate had it, he was reaped along with this girl he had always wondered so much about.

"The queen," she began, holding up a silver chess piece with a crown sitting stop its head. "Is the most important of all the chess pieces. It can move straight like a rook or diagonally like a bishop. You must never leave your queen unguarded, or an enemy will lurk up on it and take it. I have made that mistake far too many times."

Cinder nodded his head mutely, trying to take all the information in. He looked up at Arilli, whose eyes seemed to have glazed over. "Are you alright?" He asked her.

She shook her head back and forth, snapping out of her stupor. "No, I'm fine. I'm just thinking of something that happened a long time ago, but it doesn't matter now. Do you want to try playing now?"

"Sure," Cinder replied. Yet, in reality, all he wanted to do was ask her about the thing that had happened a long time ago. _Did it have to deal with the attack? The mayor? Her scared face?_ However, he decided to leave his questions unanswered in fear that it would upset Arilli.

"White moves first," she instructed, pointing to his pieces. Cinder moved one of his pawns two squares up.

"Good, that is called the opening move," she replied. "Now I will counter it by moving my knight here."

Arilli lifted her knight, placing it a few squares up. Cinder then moved his pawn two more squares, yet Arilli stopped him. "Pawns can only move two squares on their most move. After that, they can only move one. Try again."

The two played for a little while, yet Arilli was clearly winning. By the seventh or eighth move, she had already taken four of his pieces. Within about twenty minutes, she had cornered his king and announced the game ending words.

"Checkmate."

Cinder laughed, leaning back in his chair. "That was almost too easy for you."

Arilli shrugged, downplaying it. "No, you put up a pretty good fight. Your king didn't just drop dead right away."

With that, Arilli's gaze seemed to cloud again. She gripped her knife tighter, and although no words were spoken, Cinder instantly understood. It was more than just her face that was scarred. She too was broken.

Yet again, they all were. The terrified screams of his brother during the reaping rang through his ears, yet Cinder pushed them aside. His troubles were nothing compared to Arilli's, or anyone else's for that matter.

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to say.

"Everyone is sorry for me," she replied, her tone turning bitter. Then, without another word, she stood and left the room.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm done with train rides! Woohoo! I actually enjoyed wiriting these last bunch more then the first, I guess I just warmed up to them and they got easier the more I wrote them. Next is stylist stuff and arriving at the Capitol, then we will have the parade and training!**

 **From now on, everyone will get one POV, with the three poll winners getting an extra. They will all be over 1k words. So keep on voting for your favorite tributes! The poll will close Sunday, July 23, at around 8 pm EST.**

 **Questions: Out of all the train rides, whose POV did you like the best? Favorite district pair? Any alliance you want to see/like so far? Any predictions?**

 **Feeling super good,**

 **paper :)**


	20. Arrivals and Stylists: Hidden Treasure

_Arrivals & Stylists: Hidden Treasure_

* * *

 _Gadget & Gizmo McGhee, 14, District Three._

"Look out the window brother," Gizmo suggested, giving his brother a small nudge with his right elbow. Gadget sighed, tearing his eyes away from his putty and up to the window. Outside, thousands of Capitolites were eagerly waiting their arrival. They sported Hunger Games memorabilia: t-shirts, pennants, hats, posters, dresses, face paint. Although he couldn't hear what they were saying outside, they were definitely chanting something. Gizmo smiled, guessing that they were cheering for them.

The train was coming to a halt. Gizmo had asked his mentor how fast the train was going earlier. He had replied simply fast—which wasn't enough for Gizmo. He liked to know the exact numbers and values—estimating was a pet peeve of his. He guessed at top speed, they had gone about 250 miles per hour. Yet, he didn't like guessing either. Jokingly he had told his brother they were traveling at the speed of light.

Eventually the train came to a stop. Sereina appeared from the adjacent cart and told them that it was time to disembark. Gizmo eagerly stole a peak out the window one more time before following her towards the door of the train. Gadget was dragged along, his attention now placed solely on his putty once again.

"Wave to them," their mentor, a gruff man with stubble that desperately needed to be shaved, ordered once they reached the door. He looked to Sereina, who nodded her head silently. Then he looked to Gizmo, who couldn't help question why. He hated being left in the dark, and had the desire to learn about everything.

Gizmo blinked his icy blue eyes at their mentor. "Why?"

Their mentor glanced towards a small oval shaped window in the train. He narrowed his dark brown eyes before looking back to Gizmo once again. His expression had turned slightly bitter. "Just do as I say, maybe then they won't blow you two up."

Gadget lifted his head at the comment. Gizmo gave him a reassuring look, as if to tell him everything was okay. Throughout his life, he always had been the one to look over and protect Gadget. These games weren't changing anything. Gizmo would still protect his brother until his last dying breath. That is what love was, and the games wouldn't tear them apart.

Yet, Gizmo couldn't help but wonder what his mentor had meant by his comment. _Blow them up? What did that mean? Had they done something wrong?_

His question would have to wait. The door to the train slowly opened, revealing a crowd of thousands. A small path, not much wider than two or three people across, had been carved out from the sea of people. Their mentor quickly informed them that they were to stay to this path until they reached the training center. Don't leave it or risk being mauled by the excited crowd of people.

However, the crowd was anything but excited. As Gizmo and his brother stepped out into the blinding daylight—he came to realize that what he thought on the train was wrong. The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together, and Gizmo's mouth formed the shape of an O.

 _The escort's reaction at the reaping. Their hurried goodbyes so they could get onto the train quickly. Sereina's alliance refusal. His mentor's comment. The booing crowd outside the train._ The people were frightened of them.

"Go back to District Three, lab rat!"

"You're going to get blown up before you even have a chance to run!"

"It's my nightmare come to life!"

"We don't want you here, monster!"

Gizmo glanced to Gadget, who didn't seem to be fazed. He was looking around wide eyed at the buildings that seemed to stretch infinitely until they were lost in the clouds; the flashing lights of the cameras; the eccentric people dressed up in bright neons and soft pastels. He seemed to ignore the constant boos that echoed through the square. It was as if he knew this was coming—he knew the people would have this negative reaction.

Ahead of them, Sereina seemed to be slightly frightened too. She waved nervously, her hand trembling. She too hadn't expected such a negative reaction.

"Hurry up," he heard their mentor's coarse voice behind them rasp. Gizmo began to walk faster, Gadget dragging behind him. His eyes were still wide in awe, while Gizmo's were wide in fear. Sereina had broken into a desperate run.

Then, out of nowhere, a rock collided with his head. He instantly raised a hand to his head and began to rub the spot where the rock had hit. Screams ensued as two peacekeepers pushed their way through the crowd. A man in a deep purple vest was seized and taken to a location outside Gizmo's view. He tried to distract himself by thinking about Newton's laws and how much force would be required to give him a concussion.

Gizmo was now sprinting, Gadget stumbling along behind him. Their mentor was herding them along, trying desperately to get them to the training center. Another rock came hurdling towards the two boys, narrowly missing Gadget's head. Gizmo swore under his breath and continued to run faster.

Within a few minutes, they were safe inside the walls training center. Shouting could still be heard from the crowd outside. Gizmo was panting heavily, his eyes wide with fear. Gadget looked rather composed, while Sereina had begun to cry.

"And that is why you wave," their mentor said smugly, narrowing his eyes at the two boys.

A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Gizmo glanced over, surprised to see the hand belonged to his brother. He was normally the one to comfort Gadget—not the other way around.

"It wouldn't have made a difference, and you know it," Gadget murmured softly at their mentor. Gizmo's eyes only widened further. His brother rarely talked, and now he was speaking up for the two of them. It was as if Gizmo's entire world had flipped upside down.

His mentor crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. "So the silent one talks."

"So he does," Gizmo retorted. Although he was terrified, he still found the courage to stick up for his brother. Yet, before they had time to argue further, their stylists appeared and ushered them into their rooms to be cleaned and made into something hopefully more appealing to the Capitol's picky eye.

* * *

 _Tesserae Bird, 15, District Six._

"Come, come in," her stylist cooed, ushering her into a brightly lit room.

Tesserae nodded her head, entering through a doorway painted the color of gold. Waiting in the room for her was a tall woman. However, at closer glance, Tesserae noticed she wasn't tall at all. In fact, the woman was probably shorter than she, standing at about 5'1". Yet, she wore massive pink heels that gave her almost a foot of height. Her hair was the same shade of pink, curling wildly to mid-back where the tips were stained a shiny gold. She wore a golden dress that probably cost more money than Tesserae had ever held in her life.

Upon entering the room, the stylist's face twisted into a disgusted grimace. "When was the last time you took a shower?" She gawked.

Shrugging, Tesserae brushed her hand along her opposite arm. She flipped it over, noticing her hand was now stained a light shade of brown. "I don't own a shower."

The stylist gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. "You don't own a shower? What are you, poor as dirt?"

Tesserae nodded her head. "Actually, yeah." She said plainly. "But I like to refer to it as letting others be richer."

The stylist's mouth hung open for a few moments, her body frozen in shock. "Well, that means more work for me," she managed to squeak out after a long silence.

Quickly, the stylist scurried to the opposite side of the room and ushered her assistants in through a back door. Three of them hurried in, all wearing latex gloves and white masks over their mouths.

"Tesserae, I'm going to ask you to take off your clothes," one of them asked politely as he approached her. Tesserae nodded her head, beginning to remove her ratty clothes that had fit her years ago, but now were far too small. She felt a bit sad to be parting with them—as if she were giving up a piece of herself that she would never get back. After she had finished, another assistant waved her over to a small stall in the far corner of the room.

"This may hurt a little," the main stylist, a woman she later learned to be named Healea, told her. Multiple faucets in the shower all turned on, each spraying a steady stream of water at her body. The stylist was right, the streams of water did sting her skin. Within a few minutes, a stylist outside the stall gave her a nod and the faucets turned off.

Tesserae had always thought she was tan. For as long as she could remember, her skin was always a sun-kissed shade of brown. However, as she looked down at her bare arms and legs right now, she noticed her skin was only few shades darker than white. Her "tan" was just dirt, nothing more.

Healea guided her over to a small sink. "I'm going to wash your hair, okay?"

"I can wash it myself, it's alright," Tesserae responded, placing a hand to her hair. Yet, as she removed the hand, she realized it too was now coated with dirt.

One of the assistants rolled his eyes. "Let us do our job, dirt-girl. You aren't in Six anymore, you are in the Capitol. Here people do things for you," he chided.

Tesserae couldn't help but wonder how much these people were getting paid for doing a simple task she could easily do herself. _How much food could their salary buy the starving people of her district? How many people would be indirectly killed because of her stylists jobs?_

A boiling stream of water cascaded down from the sink's faucet, cleansing her hair. Tesserae clenched her teeth, holding back a scream. She wondered if her stylist had made the sink hot on purpose. It burned her scalp, yet she didn't protest. _The people of Six go through a lot worse. She could take a bit of water that is just a bit too hot._

After they were done cleaning her hair, her team lay her down on a bed. Bright lights flashed in her eyes, blinding her vision. She felt something sharp pinched her leg, yet she couldn't see what it was. For what seemed like hours, she felt strange pinches all over her body.

The strange pinches were soon replaced by a sticky substance that lined her legs, arms, and the area just between her nose and mouth. The stylists then ripped it off, sending tinges of pain shooting throughout her body.

After what seemed like forever, the lights flickered off. Tesserae blinked a few times, trying to adjust her eyes to the now dimmer light. "You're done," she heard a voice say.

Standing to her feet, Tesserae made her way over to a tall mirror that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. She hadn't looked in a mirror for years—not since her mother died. A pang of sadness flowed through her body.

As she raised her eyes to the mirror, she found herself at a loss for words. The girl who stared back at her looked immensely different from what she ever would have imagined. She always pictured herself as a scrawny looking girl with tanned skin and knotted brown hair. While the girl who stared back at her was scrawny—her ribs could be easily seen poking out through her skin—nothing else resembled what she imagined herself to look like.

Her hair was a pretty shade of auburn, coming to about her chest. It wasn't quiet straight, but not quite curly either. Her pale face was dotted with a million freckles. Her brown eyes were wide and sparkled in the bright light of the room. She couldn't help herself from smiling.

"I never thought your hair would be red," Healea chuckled, coming to stand beside Tesserae. "When you came in, it was a dirtied shade of brown. I never knew a treasure would be hidden inside the layers of dirt."

She thought it was fitting that her hair was red. Red was the color of blood—the color of the blood split by the capitol. They had killed so many: her mother, her aunt, her friends, countless others. Soon enough her red locks would be drenched in blood, yet the capitol would never know the difference. They would never see the magnitude of their actions; how many they killed without even realizing it.

* * *

 **A/N: I hoped you liked the chapter! It was a bit short, but it was a bonus type chapter so I digress. Tristan was supposed to have a POV here but I got sort of lazy so he'll be featured in a later chapter. Haha.**

 **Anyways, we have our poll winners. Cinder topped the polls with 5 votes, while Arilli came in second with 4. A bunch of you tied for third, so I pulled a name out of a hat and Gadget and Gizmo got picked! Congrats to our three winners, they will each receive an extra POV before the games.**

 **Questions: Any guesses on costumes? What do you think is going to happen to Gadget and Gizmo?**

 **Parade is next, which will feature one of my 12 Capitolite OCs.**

 **later gators,**

 **paper :)**


	21. Chariot Rides: Lights, Camera, Action

_Chariot Rides: Lights, Camera, Action_

* * *

Eris wears a plain grey tux that is supposed to look like stone. Kaeleah sports the same attire but in dress form. Their stylists told them during the parade, they must reveal the sparkling gems beneath their plain clothes. He was instructed to rip his sports coat off in grand fashion so the squealing Capitolites could see the ruby encrusted shirt he is wearing underneath. This way they'll get sponsors. But he doesn't want sponsors. He doesn't like people who pretend to be something they are not, and sparkling rubies definitely isn't him. He prefers the grey, a solemn shade.

* * *

Kaeleah has never been good enough. Not for her father; not for her mother; not for the academy. So as she steps out into the blinding light of the square, she wonders if she would ever be good enough to please the Capitol. She tells herself this week is hers for the taking—she would do what she wanted; there is no one here to please. Yet when put in front of a crowd of thousands, it's hard not to wonder. She rips off the stone grey skirt to reveal an inner layer of sparkling gems. The crowd goes wild.

* * *

Alaric has forever been told he looks scary. With his pale skin, raven black hair, and piercing grey eyes, eerie is the first word that comes to most people's minds. He has never looked like the boy from one—blonde, tan, muscular, beautiful. He would make a far better knight then Alaric does. Alaric lifts his metal helmet to reveal his face to the crowd, but few cheer. They were all expecting a handsome knight in shining armor who would save them all from the fearsome dragon. Little did they know that behind the mask, the fearsome dragon was waiting.

* * *

Lena hates her costume. Her stylist clearly had no taste when he stuffed her in a metal suit that in the bright light, was about 100 degrees. She sweats like crazy. Her district partner removes his helmet, but she doesn't dare. She doesn't want the Capitol to realize that the emotionless and strong girl she pretends to be is as fake as their foot-long eyelashes. The mask hides her eyes that are reddened from crying; her wrinkles that have formed from stress and regret. She thinks of Quartz before noticing how heavy the armor feels on her shoulders. Tears well.

* * *

Gadget pretends not to hear the loud boos that ring through his ears. He knew this would happen, he knew they wouldn't be accepted for who they really were. Gizmo isn't so lucky. They're dressed in a black jumpsuit with blinking binary digits scrolling across. Their stylist did a good job, he didn't deserve the tidal wave of boos coming their way. Then again, neither did they. The only thing they'd done wrong was be born. They get a single rose, probably from someone who pities them. Gadget glances around at the marvelous buildings to distract himself. It doesn't work.

* * *

Sereina only wants to go home. Not to her aunt's house, no. She wants to go home to her house that existed before the fire; before her sister was turned to black ashes. A time where she was happy, where she didn't live in grief. She hates the lights of the Capitol, the boos that follow her and her district partners around wherever they go. She feels sorry for them, but also feels sorry for herself. _Why her? Why did her sister have to die?_ She knows there is no home for her anymore, but still dreams of it anyways.

* * *

Albert frowns in his costume. For those idoit designers, it isn't bad. He is dressed as a fearsome sea monster, his eyes hidden behind bleeding red contacts. His skin is painted to obtain the appearance of shiny green scales, fake teeth plastered over his real ones to look like fangs. He hisses at the crowd to cease their annoying clapping, but the clapping only grows louder. The crowd only cheers when he hisses again. "I'll kill you all, fear me you landlubbers!" He yells. The crowd laughs and eats it up. They love Albert's acting. _It isn't acting. Moronic Capitolites._

* * *

Nerida, like Albert, is dressed as a sea monster. Yet, the sea monster her stylist chose for her wasn't supposed to be frightening. Unlike her district partner, she doesn't have shiny green scales or bloodthirsty red eyes. She doesn't have sharp fangs. No, instead, she's dressed like a siren. Her golden hair flies down her back, curled into beachy waves. Two shells are all she wears for a top, a green skirt meant to look like a tail—her bottoms. Some men in the crowd sigh dreamily. They'd never guess she's more deadly than the sea serpent next to her.

* * *

Jaxs never likes to standout. He always prefers to blend into the crowd; never be noticed. He's an obedient servant who takes orders—never the one to lead. Yet, as he stands on the chariot in a white suit littered with blinking white fiber optic threads, he knows no one could take their eyes off him. Lux elbows him in the side, telling him to wave. Like the obedient order taker he is, he lifts up his hand. The crowd claps. He's grateful not to be calling the shots, yet wishes his stylist had picked something less flashy.

* * *

Lux grins widely. Her stylist is making it too easy for her to win. She knows she looks stunning in her white gown covered in blinking fiber optic threads. There is no one within a mile radius that isn't looking at her, with the exception of her wide eyed district partner. The crowd loves her, especially when she takes Jaxs' hand and holds it up high into the air. She basks in their cheers, yet doesn't really care. They are only a measly pawn in her game, a step on the way to never having to work another day in her life.

* * *

Raleigh always wished he could be a racer. His mother had told him stories long ago of fearless men who rode in cars that reached speeds of up to 200 miles per hour. On his bike he barely goes twelve. He loves the thrill of just going that fast—he can't imagine what 200 felt like. With thousands of eager eyes watching, he pretends to steer the chariot just like a racecar driver would. If he closes his eyes, he could almost imagine he's in a race—a million people cheering his name as he speeds towards the finish line.

* * *

Tesserae doesn't know how to deal with all this attention. Clad in a blue racer's suit with a giant six on the back, she awkwardly waves to the crowd. She's never before had anyone even spare her a second glance—in Six she's just another dirty girl on the street. Now she stands in front of a crowd of what seemed like millions, shifting uncomfortably in her spot. Raleigh gives her a reassuring glance, but it doesn't do any good. She's still a nervous wreck. Stepping forwards, she practically trips over her feet. _Just smile._ The people don't buy it.

* * *

Tristan flaps his brown speckled wings, enjoying himself. He didn't think he would be having a good time at the games, but surprising, he is. The stylist dressed him up as a woodpecker, dying his hair a bright shade of crimson. They stuck a tail on his back and wings on his arms. He's always been good at pretending, so it's not hard to act like a bird. He squawks and pretends to peck at Celeste. She and the crowd laugh. He's never realized how much he likes to make people laugh until now. Back home, his sister is crying.

* * *

Celeste is dressed as a swan. She's always second guessed her beauty, always able to find a person prettier than her in the room. But right now, in her feathery white dress and long wings, she thinks she's beautiful. The crowd seems to think so too, for they clap and cheer when she and Tristan come out. Tristan pretends to peck at her, making her giggle. Behind her white face paint and orange beak, she feels confident. Yet she knows when they take it off she'll feel vulnerable again. She twirls around and the crowd cheers her name. _"Celeste, Celeste!"_

* * *

Merino feels safe in his patchwork of an outfit. It's the normal for Eight, his stylists weren't feeling too creative apparently. All it is is a sack of different fabrics, borrowed from last year's parade. The crowd doesn't seem to really notice him or his district partner. They graze right over them, their eyes moving from the twirling swan to awkward vegetables in the next chariot. He doesn't mind though. He's never really liked to stand out, especially when he has to steal something. In his mind it is always better to blend in. He doesn't get caught that way.

* * *

Grace scowls at everyone in the square. She hates them for making the games; she hates them for all the unnecessary blood they spill each year. No one really seems to notice anyways, their eyes all moving to whatever shiny object is next in line. And she and her district partner are anything but shiny. Their outfit is a mishmash of browns and tans—not exactly eye catching. They're lost in the sea of bright lights as their chariot rolls around the bend and comes to a stop. She begins to feel dizzy and closes her eyes. Darkness replaces light.

* * *

Draven looks absolutely ridiculous in his broccoli suit. His frowning face is the only part of his body visible, everything else is hidden behind an ugly green suit. The citizens of the Capitol think him and Abrielle are hilarious, a roar of laughter coming from the stands. His nostrils flare in anger, and a small part of him wishes he could beat up his stylist just like he did with his uncle. After all, growing up with his uncle, he hadn't been taught a better way to deal with his problems. Another round of laughter, another clenched fist. _Breathe. Breathe._

* * *

Abrielle tries to make the best of her situation. She smiles at the crowd, yet can't help but feel uncomfortable in her tomato outfit. Her face is painted a bright red hue, her small body stuffed inside a round red ball. Her thoughts drift to Brandon. He is probably watching her right now, thinking about ridiculous she looks. Finally she's got the attention she's craved for so long, but it wasn't what she dreamed. She's glad her face is already painted red, for if it was not the Capitolites would be able to see her blush from a mile away.

* * *

Chance twirls his lasso given to him by his stylist high in the air, making the crowd go wild. He feels sick to his stomach when he remembers that in less than a week, he'll be using it to kill others. But for now, he is having a good time, smiling at the crowd. For now, he is just a smiling cowboy with an empty mind that isn't full of nervousness and regret. A million cameras seem to capture the moment—their flashing lights blinding him. When he regains his vision, his district partner is no longer by his side.

* * *

Marena knows that in order to impress the Capitol, she'll have to do something risky. She's been taking risks all her life though—so it didn't surprise her when the idea to ride the horse came so easily to her. _For what is a cowgirl without a horse?_ If she falls she's dead, but if she succeeds she'll live to see another day. Hidden by the blinding lights of the flashing cameras, she makes a leap of faith. And to her surprise, she lands square on the horse. The crowd cheers widely. Marena instantly knows the risk was worth it.

* * *

Basil never has felt more in his element then he does at this very moment. He has always loved the company of others, but has never known so many people could all be in one place at one time. He basks in their cheers and hollers, throwing his arms up in delight. His stylist has dressed him and Velicity up as scarecrows, yet he isn't scaring anyone. If anything, he is only making the fruit more attractive and appealing for the birds that circle above him. He laughs and laughs until he can no longer hear the crowd's loud cheers.

* * *

Velicity still hears voices in her head. They are as loud as ever; louder than the cheers of the crowd or the snapping of cameras as they capture the moment she longs to forget. _Don't you hate them?_ They prod her on. _They killed your parents, all of them did,_ they continue. _Don't you want revenge? Don't you want to feel their warm blood running down your fingers?_ Velicity tries to push them aside, yet the voices don't retreat this time. She thought that maybe the scarecrow costume would drive them away, but the ravens only returned, hungrier than ever.

* * *

Cinder wishes his stylists were more creative. For the third year in a row, District Twelve is dressed as a lump of coal. But he always made an effort to look on the positive side of things, so he tells himself it could be a lot worse. He could be wearing no clothes at all—at least they let him wear a black t-shirt and black slacks. Living in Twelve has at least taught him to be grateful for what he has. He feels a sweaty hand grip his, and the shaking Arilli squeezes his palm tightly. He squeezes back.

* * *

Arilli loves the darkness; hates the light. So naturally she feels uncomfortable as her chariot speeds full speed out into the blinding light of the central square. A million lights are directed at right her, a million cameras flash in her eyes. She shuts them tight, trying to return to the darkness she craves so badly. For a while, everything is as it should be. Dark, warm, safe. The only other comfort she finds is in Cinder, who squeezes her hand just when she needs it. _Thank you,_ she whispers, yet her voice is drowned out by a million others.

* * *

 **A/N: Hehe, I lied about the Capitolite POV. I was experimenting with drabbles for some characters, and I wrote one I really liked for the parade, so I decided to make them all drabbles. All are 100 words, and I did want to give everyone an extra POV. They also are in third person present. I hope you liked them, they were really fun to write.**

 **Questions: Did you enjoy the style of the drabbles? (you can be honest) Favorite POV? Favorite Outfit? Least favorite outfit? Did I give you enough description?**

 **paper :)**


	22. Training Day 1: Ally Shopping

_Training Day 1: Ally Shopping_

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District Six Male._

 _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

Raleigh blinked open his eyes, jolting up in his bed. Glancing upwards, he tried to find the familiar red popcorn ceiling of his room. Yet, his tired eyes only found a blank white ceiling. It was then he remembered where he was, and let out a groan. He wasn't at his house in District Six, he was at the Capitol. Six days away from the games.

Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes again. During the night he had dreamed of riding his bike through the silent streets of Six with his best friend who he might never see again. They were laughing and shouting—lost in a bliss of turning wheels and squeaky breaks. He earned to go back to his dreamworld, yet couldn't find himself drifting off again.

After a few minutes of lying motionless in his bed, Raleigh heard a soft knock on his door. "Come in," he sleepily croaked to whoever was on the other side of the wall.

Light seeped into the room as the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was his district partner—the dirty street girl turned redhead overnight. He couldn't help but chuckle at his description of the transformation. If he weren't going to be entered into a Deathmatch in the next week, he might have considered her pretty as she stood in the bright light of the doorway. Her auburn hair seemed to be radiant in the morning light—her face scraped of all the acne and dirt it previously had before. However, now wasn't the time to talk about girls he wanted to bang. He needed to stay focus if he wanted to win.

"I just came to tell you training starts in twenty," she announced. Raleigh nodded his head in acknowledgement before flopping himself back down in his comfortable bed.

The door squeaked shut, Tesserae taking all the light with her. The room was dark once again. A little part of Raleigh wanted to stay in bed all day and not go to training. He'd go back to his dreamworld and wouldn't wake up until the games actually begun. However, he wanted his dreams to become a reality once again. He actually wanted to see his friends and family, not just dream about them. If he wanted to see them again, he knew he'd have to go to training. So he hauled himself out of bed and headed over to the dresser.

Once he was dressed in his training uniform, he made his way towards the kitchen. Tesserae and his mentor Buick were already seated at the table, conversing about something Raleigh couldn't hear from the edge of the room.

"Hey!" Tesserae bubbled, waiving her hand to welcome him. "Want to try these eggs? I'm not that hungry, and I don't like to waste food. You can have the rest of mine."

Raleigh smiled at his district partner, happy she was reaching out to him. On the train she had seemed a little odd to him, almost as if she had a secret to hide. Now she seemed a bit better though, and it helped a bit that she wasn't coated in a thick layer of dirt.

"Sure, I love eggs," Raleigh replied, taking a seat next to Tesserae. She handed him her half-finished plate, and he took it in his hand. Scooping the eggs into his mouth, he sighed dreamily. His mother did make some good food, but it was nothing compared to what the Capitol had. Within a few minutes, the rest of the plate was licked clean.

"So," Buick began after Raleigh had finished wolfing down his food. "I'd recommend you both find some allies, and do a little of everything. You never know what you will encounter during the games."

Raleigh nodded his head mutely, trying to soak it all in. "What type of people should be look for?" He asked inquisitively.

Tesserae glanced down at her plate. "I'm just going to look for people who are nice, and hopefully I'll spend my last few days alive in good company."

Out of the corner of his eye, Raleigh could see Buick's lips curve into a frown. "So you don't want to even try make it out alive?" He asked her, a concerned look plastered on his face.

"Other people deserve to win more than me," she muttered. "They have families to go back to, lives to live. I have nothing. The only people who care about me are dead."

The room went silent for a few minutes. The only sounds were the clatter of forks onto the silver plates; the heavy and nervous breathing of both Raleigh and his mentor.

"Alright, we need to leave now if we don't want to be late," Buick announced, breaking the eerie silence that followed Tesserae's comment. He stood and made his way to the elevator. Raleigh followed him, glancing back to see if Tesserae was too. Yet, to his surprise, she seemed to be cleaning up the plates they had left behind on the table.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You know, there are people here whose job it is to clean up after us. We don't need to."

Tesserae smiled weakly. "I know, it just makes me feel at ease to know I helped."

Shrugging, Raleigh turned back to the elevator. He was trying hard to get along with her, include her—but she was just so—odd. He had never met anyone who loved to clean for fun. His mentor ushered him into the open elevator and the last thing he saw before it closed was her smiling face looking back at him.

"To answer your question," his mentor continued when the elevator door opened once again. "Find allies that are skilled, but not too skilled. The people with a lot of skills probably wouldn't have good intentions allying with someone such as yourself, with mediocre things to bring to the table. If they have skills that compliment yours, that is even better. Go with your gut as well, if they seem manipulative, decline their request."

Raleigh smiled, stepping out into the large room that was the training center. His gut was something that he used for advice often, so this wouldn't be too hard for him. Looking ahead, he saw that about half the tributes had already gathered in the center of the room, waiting for further instruction. He went to join them.

He waited there a few minutes, surveying the other tributes. Many seemed to already have made alliances with their district partners, but most still seemed to be alone. The two tributes from Ten were laughing and doing weird tricks with their arms—they already looked close. A tall girl with a seven on her back was giggling as a little boy tugged at her arm. Two younger tributes from Twelve were whispering to one another, while the girl from Two was staring the tributes from One down. Raleigh couldn't help but shutter at her unwavering gaze. It looked piercing—deadly almost. He made a mental note in his head to stay away from her for as long as possible.

Once everybody had shown up, Tesserae included, a gamemaker listed the rules of the Training Room off. He half listened, not bothering to waste his energy on the rules.

He never really followed them anyways.

* * *

 _Lena Evangelos, 18, District Two Female._

She already hated them. She didn't even know their names and already hated them. Perhaps it was the girl's princessy blonde hair or her innocent sounding laugh—or the boy's determined light brown eyes that shone so much brighter than her own. He was handsome, there was no denying that. His jawline was sharp—his body muscled. Years earlier she would have flirted with him. But not here, not now.

Lena could feel her nostrils beginning to fume. A soft hand was placed on her right shoulder, but it didn't stay there for long. Angrily, she swatted it off.

"Don't even think about touching me again, Alaric," Lena hissed at her district partner. He only rolled his eyes at her in response.

"Or what?" Alaric taunted, egging her on. He narrowed his piercing grey eyes at Lena, as if he was challenging her.

Lena growled, poking her finger into his muscled chest. "Or I'll kill you before the games even begin."

"No-no-no," he shook his finger at her. "You heard the gamemakers. No sparing with other tributes until the games official start."

"Shut up," was all Lena managed to say without punching him in the face. He may have been her ally, but she didn't have to like him. In two weeks, his blood would be on her hands anyways.

Alaric stifled a laugh, only making Lena want to punch him more. It was as if he enjoyed making her angry. "Well, once you calm down, we'll introduce yourselves to our new allies," he suggested, a slight smirk still plastered on his face.

"I am calm!" Lena roared at Alaric, grabbing the neck of his training shirt and pulling it towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a guard narrow his eyes at her. She grinned, spat in Alaric's face, and then let him go.

"Sure you are, sweetheart. I think our new allies would love if you did that to them. Then they would _totally_ trust us," Alaric retorted, not seeming to have gotten the least bit worked up about Lena spitting all over his face. He still maintained a calm disposition. Next to him, Lena's eyes were practically bulging out of her head.

"They don't need to trust me. I'm going to kill them anyways," she hissed through gritted teeth. Giving Alaric a hard shove, she began to stomp her way over to the melee weapons station where the two District One tributes were inspecting the swords on the rack.

"Kill them in your dreams!" Alaric called after his district partner. Running after her, he caught up just as the two District One tributes were finishing picking their weapons.

With narrowed eyes, Lena watched as the boy sharpened his sword and turned around to face her. His brown eyes widened a bit when he saw her, yet it was more out of surprise than anything else. The girl followed in suit, turning around—her round blue eyes widening as well.

"What do you want?" The boy from One questioned, tilting his head to the side. Challenging Lena, he narrowed his eyes at her own narrowed ones. _She hated him, she hated him with all her guts. He shouldn't be challenging her, he doesn't even hold a candle to her. She could kill him in a second if she wanted to, he should be the one that is afraid._

Opening her mouth, Lena began to speak. "I—"

Alaric placed a hand in front of her face, silencing her. "We wanted to know if you'd like to align with us," he said calmly. Lena wrinkled her nose, smacking his hand down from her face. She then shot him an angry look, but Alaric didn't seem to notice.

The blonde girl smiled slightly, but the boy didn't look convinced. "And why would we agree to that?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes into even smaller slits. He looked like such a pompous douche. In her mind, everyone from District One was. As Lena stared into his eyes, all she could picture was how lifeless they would be in a week. _Just like Quartz's when they killed her._

"Because if not, we'll kil—" Lena growled, yet was once again cut off by Alaric.

Lacing his fingers around her own, he squeezed her hand tightly. _Shut up,_ the squeeze said.

"What my district partner means to say is that you two and us two are the strongest tributes in the arena. We have been training for this for the past few years, it's like a career to us almost. We are both big threats to each other, but if we were aligned, there would be no real threat elsewhere in the arena. We'd be unstoppable."

The boy from one nodded his head mutely, contemplating the choice. Lena glanced over at his district partner, whose mind seemed to be elsewhere. She was staring off at an unnamed point in space, her blue eyes cloudy.

"I like it," the boy said after a few minutes of thought. "We're in."

Giggling, the girl from one stretched out her hand to Lena. "I'm Kaeleah, nice to meet you," she cooed, her voice soft and sweet.

Clenching her teeth, Lena glanced over to Alaric. She didn't want to shake this girl's hand, she only wanted to cut it off. She needed revenge for Quartz's death, and killing Kaeleah was the only way she could get it.

 _Shake it,_ Alaric mouthed. Gulping, Lena shut her eyes and extended her hand. Kaeleah took it with a smile, shaking it tightly.

"Lena, and likewise," she faked a grin. Kaeleah seemed to buy it and gave her an even larger smile.

"Now, who wants to beat up the trainer first?" Eris, the boy from one, jokingly asked. Everyone laughed except Lena, who couldn't decide which of these brats she was going to kill first. _The pretty princess or the strong prince?_

When Kaeleah took her hand without even asking and lead her to the sword rack, she decided the princess would be the first to die.

* * *

 _Basil Anderson, 12, District Eleven Male._

Basil sat in the middle of the large room, trying to decide which station to try first. There were so many, from melee weapons, to firemaking, from long ranged weapons to plant identification, to camouflage to cooking. There were so many choices it was almost overwhelming.

In the past, he never really had any choices. He ate whatever food he could get his hands on, took whatever odd job was available. He did whatever others told him to do, was friends with whoever approached him. But now, as the games grew closer, he realized he had more choices than he ever had before. _Who would he be allies with? What station would he try? Would he flee the bloodbath or stay?_

He decided a good place to start looking for allies would be with his district partner Velicity. Although she hadn't been the most welcoming or friendly the past two days—leaving the room when he entered this morning for breakfast—he knew she would warm up to him in time.

Surveying the room, he spotted the small body of Velicity hunched over at the knife station. There was no one else there, he guessed she had scared everyone else off. _She wouldn't scare him off._

Making his way over towards the station, he called out to her. "Hey Velicity!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. A few people glanced his way, their attention caught by his loud hello. Two of the trained tributes looked at him—their eyes seeming to pierce through his dark skin. Shuttering, he walked faster.

Velicity was one of the only people in the room who didn't seem to hear him call to her. Padding up behind her, Basil gave her a soft tap on the shoulder. She didn't turn around. Again, Basil tapped on her shoulder, a bit harder this time. Still, she did not turn to face him.

"It's Basil," he chirped, circling around to face his district partner. The short girl only groaned, turning away from him, knife in hand. The trainer continued to speak with her, instructing her on how to use the knife.

"I can help you!" Basil exclaimed, still trying to catch her attention. The lies began to pour out of his mouth. "I'm really good with knives! I have fought uh—twelve people, double my size! And won!"

Velicity groaned again, turning towards Basil. Despite her age, she was still shorter then him, standing at around five feet tall, not an inch higher. Narrowing her eyes, she wrinkled her nose.

"Congratulations. You must be all set for the games then, and don't even need to train, unlike me." She hissed at him, her tone very unfriendly. She turned back towards the trainer, leaving Basil staring at the white eleven on her back.

Basil waved his hand in the air, trying to grab her attention once again. "That's exactly why I'm here! I want to help you!"

No response. Basil waited a minute, then another. However, Velicity didn't bother turning around or addressing him again. With a sigh of defeat, Basil headed off to find another ally. He still hadn't given up on her yet, he just decided she needed more time to come around to him. _Everyone does,_ he told himself, yet there was an inch of doubt in his mind. _What if Velicity didn't?_

For about an hour, the young boy drifted through the stations, trying to find a potential ally somewhere. At the bow and arrows station, he met Sereina, the mousy looking girl from Three. She seemed nice, and although she was rather sullen, he decided she would make for a good ally. After attempting and failing to help her, he asked her if she wanted to be his ally. She politely declined, saying she didn't want any allies. She left him alone after that, giving him time to assess his confusion. _Why didn't she want to be allies with him? Did he come off as too mean? Too selfish? Too childlike?_ He couldn't put a finger on it and went to the next station.

The next station he visited was the knot-tying station, where the boy from District Four was bragging about his skills to the trainer. Basil couldn't help but listen into their conversation before joining in himself.

"Do you know how to tie the figure eight knot? It is very good for stopping things, and it's easy to get undone. Would you like me to teach you?" The trainer asked the red-haired boy with a face full of freckles.

Albert only laughed in response, rolling his green eyes at the trainer. "Do you even know who I am?" He inquired, narrowing his eyes.

The trainer shrugged. "Am I supposed to?"

"Yes!" Albert squawked at the trainer, obviously startled he didn't have a clue who he was. "I am Albert Quarius, son of the most evil and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas! Of course I know how to tie knots, you idiotic landlubber! I should be the one teaching you!"

A stream of laughter escape Basil's mouth. He quickly covered it up, yet not before it attracted the attention of Albert and the trainer. Albert narrowed his eyes at him, placing his hands on his hips.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked, studying Basil.

"Nothing," Basil lied, taking a step towards Albert.

"Liar!" Albert roared, stomping towards Basil. Basil glanced upwards, only now noticing how tall the boy he just picked a fight with was. At around six feet, Albert completely towered over the young boy.

"I—I wasn't lying!" Basil stuttered, taking a step backwards.

Albert shook his head, clenching his fist tightly. "Another lie! Landlubbers never tell the truth! You're the first one I'm going to kill, shortie." He threatened.

With that, Albert stomped off to go find another trainer to brag to about his awesome skills. Basil was left shaking, wondering what he did wrong. _This was going fantastically._

Deciding to try one last time, Basil headed towards the fishing station where a young boy about the same age as him was trying to learn how to catch fish with a net. He took a seat beside the boy, placing his feet in the fake stream. He kicked, causing the water to splash in all directions.

The boy next to him began to laugh, setting down the net and putting his feet in the river. He too began to kick, causing the water to splash. Within a few minutes, the two were rolling around on the wet ground laughing and splashing each other.

"What's your name?" Basil asked after the laughter had stopped rolling out of his mouth.

"Merino," the boy replied, giving him a toothless smile. Basil couldn't help flinch, but Merino didn't seem to mind. He looked used to it.

Basil returned the smile. "I'm the one and only Basil Anderson of District Eleven," he announced, giving himself an accent as he spoke. Merino began to laugh again.

"Well, Basil Anderson of District Eleven, would you like to ally?" Merino asked in between giggles.

Nodding his head quickly, Basil couldn't hide his apparent glee. "I'd love to!" He exclaimed.

The two began to laugh again, splashing their feet in the fake river once again. Basil was grateful he found a friend, for he was beginning to think he wouldn't find any in this place of nightmares.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District Five Female._

Lux sat back as she watched Jaxs throw knives at a red and white target. He was better than she had expected, hitting the target about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent of the time, the knives clattered to the ground, dead. Just like all of the twenty-three other tributes would be in two weeks' time. She'd be the sole survivor.

Not to Lux's surprise, she wasn't the only one watching her surprisingly skilled district partner. He had also caught the attention of the boy from Six, who was throwing spears with some luck at the station next to hers. She saw as he spared glances at Jaxs, probably wanting him for an alliance of his own.

When he looked over again next, Lux caught his gaze. It widened for a second before he quickly looked away. The next time he looked over, Lux gave him a scowl. _He's mine,_ he mouthed. The boy didn't dare glance over again.

Jaxs had also caught the attention of the pair from Ten, and the group of trained tributes hogging the melee weapons station. Lux didn't dare tell the trained tributes to back off, they'd surely make her their number one target if she did. But the pair from Ten she gave a quick glare, hopefully sending the message that Jaxs wasn't up for grabs.

"Do you want to try?" Jaxs asked her after a considerable amount of time. She shook her head in response, giving him a large and fake smile.

"I'm alright, you should keep going though," Lux declined politely.

"Are you sure? You should train too. I mean—"

Lux held up her hand, telling him to stop. She reclined back with a sigh. "Training is a waste of my energy. I already have a bunch of skills I can use. I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't think I could win, no?"

Jaxs nodded his head mutely, turning back towards the target and picking up another stack of knives. "Right. May I was what skills you have then?" He questioned as he hurled a knife towards the target. It missed barely, clattering to the ground with all the others.

She smirked. "That is for me to know and you to find out," Lux replied slyly. In reality, she didn't have any skills that could be used in the games. She was horrible with weapons, even worse at all things survival, and couldn't heal someone even if she tried. However, she would never let Jaxs know that. As long as he thought she was the greatest thing since sliced bread, he'd stay with her. If he were ever to find out she didn't have any skills, he might leave, ruining her perfect plan.

Sighing, Jaxs picked up another knife and hurled it at the target. This one hit a few inches below the bullseye. Although Jaxs was good, she knew he wouldn't be enough. She needed another ally if she wanted to win these games without lifting a single finger. Her new ally would need to be like Jaxs in the sense that they would take orders without question, and never say no to any orders she gave them.

Doing a quick sweep of the room, no one seemed to pop out to the lounging girl. Standing to her feet, Lux made her way over to Jaxs' knife pile. She plucked a shiny silver knife from the stack, causing Jaxs to turn his head.

"I've seen you decided to try?" He asked inquisitively, giving her a slight smirk.

"In your dreams," Lux retorted. She clutched the foreign object in her hands, not exactly knowing how to grip it. The only time she'd ever picked up a knife in her life was when she was slicing bread or cutting a wire at the factory.

Her ally's eyes drifted down to her hand, and she quickly moved the knife out of his eyesight. His head tilted to the side, and Lux had to think fast. "I need to pretend I don't know how to use a knife, so all the other tributes don't see my skills," she lied, noticing how easy it slipped off her tongue. Satisfied, Jaxs nodded his head and threw another knife at the target.

"I'm going to find another ally for us, but while I'm gone, don't talk to anyone," Lux ordered Jaxs before padding off towards the firemaking station. There, the two District Twelve tributes were being instructed on what types of fires are good for what. Personally, she believed that firemaking was a stupid skill to have, as making a fire in the arena would only attract attention to oneself. Still, if the two tributes here were dumb, she could easily control them.

Lux chuckled as she purposely bumped into the girl from Twelve. Her knife clattered to the ground, yet couldn't be heard over the girl's ear-splitting shriek of terror. This shriek attracted attention from most of the other tributes in the training center, making Lux swear under her breath. She could already tell the girl was super neurotic, and wouldn't make for a good ally. All she was was a waste of Lux's precious energy.

"Arilli, it's alright," the short boy consoled. "Don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen. She just bumped into you is all, she's not attacking you. You're safe, don't worry."

Arilli nodded her head mutely, her hands still trembling. Lux tried her best to hold back an eye roll. This girl was most definitely not ally material—but the boy—he was a bit better.

Rubbing her back, the boy glanced up at Lux with curious eyes. Lux glanced back, giving him a fake smile.

"Could you possibly pick the knife up for me?" Lux asked the trembling girl. "I have a bad back, so I can't bend down easily."

The girl shook her head, still at a loss for words. The boy only smiled, bending down to pick up the knife for her. He extended his hand out to Lux, giving it over to her. Lux took it with a real smile this time. _He was perfect._

"Thanks," she replied, tucking the knife into her pocket. "I'm Lux by the way. Lux Ward."

Extending a hand out towards them, the boy quickly took it. Arilli only glared at her warily, not bothering to accept her handshake.

Shaking her hand, the boy began to study her with curious eyes. "I'm Cinder, and it's so nice to meet you," he introduced himself.

 _Perfect, her plan was working to perfection._ Cinder would be her mindless ally within a few days, a drone listening to her every command. He was her ticket to victory, yet she knew it wouldn't be easy prying him away from the neurotic girl with half her face burned off. She could sense they were close, but if no one else, she of all people could tear them apart.

No one would stand in her way of winning. Not the trained tributes, not the boy from Six with wandering eyes, and most definitely not the possessive Arilli.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Hope you liked the chapter! We are really into the pre-games now, with only 7/8 chapters left to go before the bloodbath! Super pumped!**

 **From now on, I'll be listing the official alliances below for reference. Subject to change.**

 **Careers: Eris, Kaeleah, Lena, Alaric**

 **The Shepard and Her Sheep: Lux, Jaxs, (Cinder?)**

 **Tree Huggers: Tristan, Celeste**

 **Boys just want to have Fun: Merino, Basil**

 **Bad Asses: Chance, Marena**

 **Current Loners: Gadget and Gizmo, Sereina, Albert, Nerida, Raleigh, Tesserae, Grace, Draven, Abrielle, Velicity, Arilli**

 **Questions: Favorite alliance so far? Any new favorite tributes? Any possible winners popping out to you yet?**

 **paper :)**


	23. Training Day 2: Fuel the Fire

_Training Day 2: Fuel the Fire_

* * *

 _Nerida Willows, 16, District Four Female._

A clock out of sight chimed nine times, signaling training was beginning. The tributes began to disperse to different stations, the trained tributes once again hogging the weapons stations, while the outer districts mainly flocked to more survival oriented places. Only Nerida didn't move, trapped in the middle of a circular room filled with twenty-three other determined tributes. All seemed to have a plan but her.

Alliances were beginning to form; tributes were beginning to get good at a certain skill. She watched with curious eyes as the boy from Five threw knives at a target with pretty decent accuracy; as the pair from Seven identified plants with ease. The girl from Nine was painting her skin to look like grass, and if Nerida hadn't seen the paintbrush, she would have guessed the grass was real. Chance and Marena, the District Ten pair she had talked to the day before, were quickly making lassos at the knot tying station like they had done it a million times.

The previous day she had floated around from station to station, not focusing on anything too much. She had discovered she wasn't the best at making fires, and the berries she had thought were safe were actually deadly. She hadn't gone near the weapons stations in fear the trained tributes would think she was bad at them and perhaps target her for being weak. A few had struck up conversation with her, but she hadn't felt like talking to them. All she could focus on was her steadily growing nervousness.

Today though, she felt strangely brave. Perhaps it was that she was growing more accustomed to the idea of death, or rather that she had nothing to really lose. So, she took a deep breath in and walked up to the bow and arrows station where the boy from One and the boy from Two were standing.

As soon as she approached, she felt their gazes rest on her. Sweat beaded and began to slide down her forehead. Still, she held her head high as she passed and headed towards the rack where the bow and arrows lay.

A trainer appeared out of what seemed like thin air, asking her if she wanted to learn how to use it. Still feeling the boys' narrowed eyes on her back, she nodded her head mutely. The trainer began to show her how to properly stand while using the bow, how to hold it, and where to aim so the arrow will hit the target.

After the trainer was finished talking, Nerida twisted her head around to see if the two boys were still watching her. Not to her surprise, they were still there, their attention taken by Nerida. Yet, she was used to all this attention. Back in Four, boys used to watch her—although their reason was different. They just wanted to feel her lips on theirs, but these boys, they only wanted to feel her blood on their hands.

Gulping, she turned back towards the target and took an arrow from the bin beside her. Loading it onto her bow, she pulled the string back and aimed right at the target. Then, she let go.

The arrow soared towards the target, hitting a few inches to the right of the bullseye with a soft thud. A gasp escaped her mouth, surprised that the arrow even made contact with the target at all. She had expected it to miss entirely, making a fool out of herself in front of the most dangerous tributes in the arena. Yet, it had it. She smiled to herself and picked up another.

"Beginner's luck," she heard one of the boys whisper behind her. "Girls who look like that aren't good at anything but smiling and laughing. She's just like Kaeleah, except without the training."

Nerida blinked her eyes, her ears perking as she listened into their conversation. _They thought she was pretty._ She knew exactly how to deal with boys like that. Smiling, an idea came to mind. She dropped the arrow back in the bin and put the bow back on the rack.

"We probably scared her off," the boy from One whispered as Nerida turned back towards them.

Blinking her eyelashes slowly, she gave the boys a flirtatious smile. "Just the opposite. I was wondering if one of you strong men could show me how it's done."

The boy from Two grinned, making his way over to the bow rack and taking a golden bow off of it. Then, he quickly loaded the arrow and shot towards the target. It landed just centimeters away from the middle with a loud smack.

"Is that good enough for you?" He asked, giving her a big smile. Nerida shook her head, pretending she was confused.

Taking another bow off the rack, Nerida pretended to be too weak to pull the string back. "I need some help pulling the string back. I was wondering if you could do it for me, since you are both so strong."

The boy from One narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side in confusion. _Hadn't he just seen her shoot an arrow at the target moments before?_ The boy from Two gave her the same confused look, and Nerida swore under her breath. These boys were much more observant then the ones back home. Their eyes only found her breasts, not her lies.

"Do it yourself, princess," the boy from Two snickered, loading another arrow onto his bow. He pulled back and released, the arrow spiraling towards the center of the target. It hit the red bullseye with a loud smack. Nerida gulped, taking a step away from him. Her plan had completely backfired, and now, just like the target, there was a giant red bullseye on her back.

She hoped that when he fired his arrow the next time, it would miss.

Dropping her bow and arrows onto the ground, she made her way to the center of the room. She had no plan, no allies, and zero skills. Her body went limp as she slumped to the floor, utterly defeated. She tried to say something that would reassure her that she could do it—she could, no she would, make it out alive. Yet, her throat felt dry, her mind out of pointless ideas that only have her a false sense of comfort.

 _What was a siren without its alluring voice?_

A mermaid, a creature of dreams. Her chances of going home were about as high as that of mermaids being real. _Zero._

* * *

 _Draven Sinveil, 18, District Nine Male._

"A sickle is an agricultural tool that is traditionally used for harvesting crops, but it can also be used as a weapon," the training instructor explained as she held a sickle in her hand. She glanced at the white Nine on his shirt. "I see that you are from District Nine, have you ever used one before?"

Draven nodded his head mutely, but didn't say much else. He had never really been one for conversation, and mainly preferred to keep to himself. That was why he had declined his district partner's request to ally the day before. He didn't want to spend the games conversing with some boy-crazy teenage girl who only talked about flowers and horses. He wanted to spend the games in peace, hunting other tributes at his leisure, not at someone else's.

Surprisingly, he found himself a bit excited for the games. Anger had been building up inside of him from his time at the Capitol, especially ever since his idiotic stylist had dressed him in a disgusting green broccoli suit for the whole world to see. He wanted more than anything to lash out at his stylist, yet told himself there would be enough time to lash out at other tributes during the games themselves.

As the trainer handed him a sickle, he couldn't help but picture it punctured into some other tribute's neck, blood running out from all different sides. He smiled at the thought, now imagining it in his dead uncle's neck. His uncle would surely be watching from hell, laughing as Draven did to other tributes as his uncle did to him. _Was he turning into his uncle?_ Draven's smile faded, and he instantly felt sick.

"They are typically used for slashing and cutting," the instructor continued, mimicking a slashing motion with the sickle. Draven blinked, returning his attention to the trainer. "It is a very deadly weapon if you get your hands on it. With one slash, your enemy could be dead."

 _Dead._ An image of his uncle's lifeless body on the floor popped into his head. He was surrounded in a pool of crimson blood, his eyes clouded and lifeless. He saw the same cloudy and lifeless eyes as a picture of his father popped into his mind, hanging limp by a noose in the closet. The same eyes of his brother, laying lifeless on the ground as his parents screamed in horror. _Was Draven ready to add another image or two to the already long list?_

The instructor smiled at him, once again bringing him out of his stupor. "Now you try," she instructed, pointing to the sickle in his hand. Draven swung it around, slicing and cutting nothing but air. The instructor nodded in approval, guiding him over to the dummies.

"Try it on these," she ordered, pointing to a row of faceless dummies. Yet, when Draven blinked, they were no longer faceless. They all had the same lifeless eyes as his brother, father, and uncle. All were staring at him, following him as he lifted the sickle into the air and prepared to slash.

"Don't do this," they spoke. "There are better ways, Draven. You don't have to be your uncle. He was ruthless, but you can be better. You can choose good Draven, you don't have to hurt others to make yourself feel better."

Draven roared, slashing his sickle across the closest dummies face. Fake blood poured out, coating his black training uniform in a thick layer of it. Draven slashed and slashed and slashed. He tried to stop himself, make himself go slower, yet he couldn't. He was lost in a rage of fury; of anger. The lifeless eyes followed him, yet he did not care. It felt good to feel the thick blood on his skin, to feel the pain of others. It made the pain inside him numb. By the time he was done, no dummy was left unharmed.

The trainer was speechless. She glanced at Draven with wide eyes, her jaw hanging open. "That was—" she began, at a loss for words.

For a while, the only sound was Draven's heavy breathing and the quiet chatter of others far away. "Amazing," she croaked out, still watching Draven in awe.

He turned away. "I wouldn't call it that," he murmured almost silently. He glanced off into the distance, his eyes as cloudy as those that haunted him in his mind.

"You are a natural," she sputtered, taking the sickle from Draven's hand and placing it back on the table. Another lull of silence ensued.

Draven shook his head back and forth. "I've had practice," he muttered, his mind drifting once again to his uncle's lifeless body. He had become the man he had despised for so long. Drowning out his own pain by inflicting it on others; running away from his problems and not addressing them head on.

He was broken, very broken. He had always thought he had been better than the rest of him family, yet now, he realized he was no different from the rest of them. He thought volunteering for the games would distance himself from the place that had hurt him so, yet it seemed that he couldn't escape his past wherever he went. The games weren't the safe haven he had hoped they would be.

Perhaps there was no such thing as a safe haven. Maybe only in death would he be free.

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District Seven Female._

"Look! Look! The Careers moved away from the swords! Let's go try them out!" Tristan exclaimed, dropping the silver knives to the ground. They clattered against the floor, causing a few tributes to turn their heads. Celeste giggled at the young boy's enthusiasm, letting him take her hand and lead her over to the now empty sword station.

For the past two days, Celeste and her district partner had been experimenting with all the weapon stations, assuming they were both already adept at all the survival ones. Growing up in District Seven, they had an advantage over the other tributes, as they already knew how to identify edible plants and start fires on their own. On the other hand, they both had no idea how to wield a single weapon. Neither had been lumberjacks back home, Tristan too young and Celeste well—too privileged. A small part of her wished her parents hadn't sent her to school for so long, yet she was grateful for the education. Knowing how to throw an axe would have risen her chances of making it home significantly though.

"Don't dwell on the past Celeste," she murmured to herself, attempting to comfort her nervous mind. Her murmur caused Tristan to turn a head. He only laughed at her comment, continuing to tug her along. For a kid, Celeste noticed he was rather strong, but perhaps everyone was in a district where manual labor was the normality.

However, he wasn't as strong as Celeste thought. When they arrived at the sword station, Tristan couldn't lift a single sword higher than his hip. Each time he eagerly attempted to lift one up, his arms would buckle under the sheer amount of weight. If only her district partner had been a bit stronger, a bit older, then maybe this would have been the weapon for him. She later chastised herself for saying such a thing—Tristan was a nice partner: fair, energetic, funny, kind. He was the best she could have asked for. However, after a lifetime of surrounding herself by people who were smarter, funnier, more intelligent—just better than her in general—she couldn't help but feel like Tristan was a bit lackluster. _But who was she to judge? She had never been great at anything—ever. She too was lackluster._

"It's alright," Celeste comforted her district partner after he had clearly failed. However, her comment wasn't just meant for Tristan. It was also meant for herself.

Tristan only smiled back at her, his pearly white teeth shining in the bright light of the training center. "Yeah, I bet I'll be good at spears!" He chimed optimistically, his dark brown eyes fluttering over to the almost empty spear station. Only the District Six boy lingered. Celeste couldn't help but watch him fling the pointed sticks at the target, a very determined look plastered on his face. He was pretty good. _Maybe if he was her district partner, then s—_

She stopped herself there. Tristan was fine, he made her laugh and smile. _What more could she ask for in such a bleak place?_ He was like her little brother, someone she liked, yet felt obliged to look after. If only he was from a different district, perhaps she wouldn't pity him so _. If only, if only._ Her life was full of them, every second seeming to be filled with regrets and insecurities.

"Come on!" Tristan chirped, disrupting her stupor filled with regrets and ifs. She felt his hand tug on hers, and she laughed again. _Tristan was good, Tristan would be enough._ Another what if was hidden behind the smile she flashed at him; the ripple of laughter that flowed out of her mouth disguised her regrets. To other tribute, she would look happy—like she was satisfied with Tristan and liked his company. That was the point—the appearance.

Celeste laughed again. "Alright, alright! I'm coming, slow down!" She called after him, breaking into a run.

They reached the spears station. Celeste, like Tristan, still hadn't found a weapon she felt entirely comfortable with. They had tried knives and slingshots yesterday, but she hadn't been much good at either. Perhaps the spear would be better.

Picking up the spear from a golden bin beside the boy from District Six, she felt his eyes rest on the white seven on her back. She quickly glanced back to where she expected Tristan to be, but he was already entangled in conversation with the trainer a few feet away. Nervously, she lifted her eyes to inspect the District Six boy. To her surprise, he was already looking at her, his dark blue eyes interlocking with hers.

Feeling a bit awkward, she quickly reverted her eyes back to the golden spear in her hand. Watching the trainer show Tristan how to hold it out of the corner of her eye, she mimicked him. He showed Tristan how to throw it, his arm moving in a fluid motion. Celeste copied him, hurling the spear towards the target. It landed just short of it, clattering to the floor and disappearing instantly.

Awful. Another thing to add to the endless list of things she wasn't good at. The list of potential weapons she could use was growing shorter and shorter by the minute. She turned away, defeated.

"Was that your first time?" She heard a voice behind her inquire. Turning around, she saw the District Six boy looking at her curiously. Nodding her head mutely, she glanced back towards Tristan. He was trying the spear out for himself, the trainer helping him with mechanics.

The District Six boy smiled. "Well, that was really good for your first time. My first time I hit that light." He pointed his finger up towards the bright light hanging right above their heads. Celeste held back a giggle, thinking about how bad of a throw it would take to hit that light.

"It's alright," he continued, chuckling himself. "I'd laugh at me too."

Celeste narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out the angle of trajectory it would take to hit the light. She couldn't help but laugh again, thinking about how ridiculous he would have looked throwing it.

"But you're pretty good now, I was watching you," Celeste managed to say after she stopped laughing.

The boy narrowed his eyes, giving her a sly smile. "I know, girls can't resist watching this." He motioned towards his body, winking at Celeste.

Quickly shaking her head back and forth, Celeste nullified his claim. "No! I—I—didn't mean it like that. I—I—just thought you were good at throwing spears is all! Nothing romantic!" She exclaimed, stuttering slightly.

The boy brushed her off, still grinning. "I get it, I get it. You were just creepily stalking me so you could get my number later."

Celeste rolled her eyes, now able to tell the boy was only kidding with her. "Sure," she replied sarcastically. Secretly though, she liked it better when the boy wasn't kidding.

"So, I see you're from Seven," he replied, referencing the number on her back.

Celeste raised an eyebrow at him, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "I see you were stalking me too," she replied playfully.

He brushed her off again. "That's not the word I'd use for it, but yes, if you'd like to call it stalking, it's stalking."

Rolling her eyes, she glanced back to see if Tristan was done with the trainer. She felt much more comfortable with him, but to her dismay, he was still working with the trainer. Sighing, she turned back towards the boy, trying to keep her playful act up.

"So anyways," he continued when she turned back to face him again. "I was thinking we could help each other out."

Celeste nodded her head, trying to tone down her excitement. Although Tristan was a good ally, she needed another one closer to her own age—who also had more weapons skill. This boy was perfect. "Yeah?"

"Well, since you are from Seven, you have a lot of survival skills, right?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm."

"Since I'm from Six, I don't, but I know how to use the spear pretty well."

"Yeah," she replied, knowing where this was going.

"So I was thinking I can teach you how to use the spear, but in exchange you could maybe teach me how to make a fire? Then if you wanted, we could ally possibly?"

Celeste pretended to ponder the idea, but secretly was teaming with excitement. The boy tapped his foot on the ground, anxiously awaiting her decision.

"So, do you hold a spear? Like this, or like this?"

Raleigh smiled.

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18, District Eight Female._

During the past two days, she hadn't even gone within a ten foot radius of a weapons station. No, it wasn't because the girl from Two gave a death glare to anyone who did, nor the fact that she didn't want to talk to anyone and most of the tributes flocked to those stations.

Instead, she did it to send a message to the Capitol. She saw the endless cameras hidden between the shelves and in the ceiling. They were everywhere, positioned carefully so the Capitol could watch their every move. Not only watch, but analyze. They were analyzing her every decision, her every thought.

 _The Capitol wasn't going to change her_. She had made a vow to herself never to hurt another living soul years prior, and even the games, which required killing in order to win, wasn't going to change that. She would stick to her morals until the very end—but personally, she didn't know how far away the end would be. It was common knowledge that the Capitol blew up rebellious tributes who made their thoughts known—and Grace was going to do just that. With each day that passed in which she refused to pick up a weapon, she assumed a day would be taken off her life. When she proclaimed her allegiance to the rebels during her interview, her fate would be sealed. She'd be blown into a million fleshy pieces before the timer even reached zero. Oddly enough, she found herself okay with that.

Still, she didn't want to just sit around for the remaining days of her life. So for the past two days, she'd been learning new skills that she'd never be able to put to use. Currently, she was listening to the trainer drone on about which types of fires are used for what purposes.

"The A-frame is commonly used for cooking, since it is a flat fire. It also has many other uses, but in the games, cooking will be what you will use it for," the trainer instructed, pointing to a picture of an A-frame fire. Next to her, the girl from Six was eagerly listening, trying to take in everything.

The instructor continued to talk, yet Grace found herself not listening anymore. Normally, she was a great listener and loved to learn new things. Yet, she always learned new things with an intention to actually use them. All these skills she was currently learning she'd never be able to put to the test. Unless she had to make a fire in the afterlife.

"Do you need some help?" The girl next to her asked, blinking at her with round brown eyes. Grace found herself blinking, wondering how much time had passed. The trainer was helping another group of tributes, these two with big tens on their backs. The girl next to her had already made a successful fire, golden sparks emanating from it.

Grace shook her head, beginning to gather some sticks and place them in a pile. Taking the large logs, she began to stack them in an A shape. She placed random sized twigs on top of it, not really remembering what she was supposed to do. Yet, before she could go any farther, the girl from Six stopped her again.

"Are you sure you don't need help? I'm Tesserae by the way, if you were wondering." The girl asked, introducing herself after.

 _Tesserae._ It was an odd name for sure. She wondered what kind of parent would name their daughter after an item for poor people, but then realized Tesserae was born far before tesserae was actually a thing. Shrugging, Grace glanced back down at her mess of a fire.

"Actually, I could use some help," Grace muttered, blinking her eyes a few times. The red-headed girl next to her grinned widely, as if she was happy that Grace needed help.

"Okay, so you don't want to start with the big pieces, as they will never actually catch on fire. You want to start with the little sticks, which are called your tinder. Then you want to put some leaves in the middle, which are your kindling. This is where you want to place your first spark, as it will catch onto everything else. From there, you layer bigger and bigger pieces on until your fire is really roaring."

Grace narrowed her eyes at the girl, thinking it a bit odd that she knew so much about fires. It was as if she was the instructor. "You seem to know a lot about fires, huh?" She blurted out.

Tesserae nodded her head in response. "You could say I have a lot of practice starting them."

Only poor children who live on the street knew how to start fires in Eight. Grace couldn't help but wonder if Tesserae had grown up on the street, and if perhaps the Capitol had taken everything away from her like they had done to Grace.

With the help of her new acquaintance, Grace successfully started the fire. It roared to life, the flames flickering in all directions. "I wonder if this will be big enough to burn down the Capitol," she chuckled, thinking out loud to herself.

Tesserae's eyes widened, and her jaw hung open in shock. Grace turned away, wrinkling her nose in digust. "I guess you like the Capitol, huh?" She asked Tesserae, raising an eyebrow.

"I—I thought I was the only one," Tesserae murmured. Grace's expression went from angry to confused, and she felt her head tilt to the side.

"Are you one too?"

"Yes," Tesserae answered. The room seemed to go silent, the only sound the flickering of the flames in front of them. However, the trainer poured a bucket of water over the fire, instantly quelling it. She swore to herself her flame wouldn't be squashed, even if the Capitol poured an entire ocean on it.

Out of the ashes, smoke rose. Grace couldn't help but think back to the fires that raged through her district all those years ago; the screaming of children that followed.

Glancing up, she saw that Tesserae was smiling. _Adding fire to a fire only makes it burn brighter._ Their fire would blaze.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! It felt a little lackluster, but I don't really know. If you have any suggestions, feel free to voice them.**

 **Questions: Favorite POV? Any predicted bloodbaths? Any new alliances you like/dislike? If you were a tribute, what would you do in training?**

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers:** Eris, Kaeleah, Alaric, Lena

 **Shepard and her Sheep:** Lux, Jaxs, (Cinder?)

 **Tree Huggers Plus One:** Raleigh, Tristan, Celeste

 **Rebel Chicks:** Tesserae, Grace

 **Boys just want to have Fun:** Merino, Basil

 **Bad asses:** Chance, Marena

 **Loners:** Sereina, Gadget and Gizmo, Albert, Nerida, Draven, Abrielle, Velicity, Arilli

 **paper :)**


	24. Training Day 3: One is a Lonely Number

_Training Day 3: One is a Lonely Number_

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District Three Female._

When she woke the sky outside was still a colorless black, the only light coming from the flickering of streetlights and the faint glow of faraway stars. In school, her teachers had told her the tiny stars were actually suns, blazing millions of light years away. She found it strange to think something so small could be so big, but the universe was full of surprises.

Rolling over in her bed, her eyes found the blinking clock on the nightstand beside her. It read 3:51 in blinking red letters so bright that the faraway stars that were actually blazing suns paled in comparison. She lay there for a few moments, her body curled into an unnatural position, the red numbers continuing to blink until the one changed to a two.

Here, hundreds of miles away from her house that was reduced to nothing but black ashes, she was relieved that the nightmares didn't follow her. Sereina no longer dreamed of the final screams of her sister nor the heat of the fire as it enveloped and destroyed all she ever knew. The only thing she dreamed of was trapping mice with her aunt, oddly enough.

Not wanting to think of home anymore, her mind drifted to the only other thing that mattered—the games. The past two days of training had been pretty uneventful, she'd stayed away from most other tributes in fear that they would ask her to align with them. Up until now, she hadn't known exactly why she had wanted them to stay away, but now, in the still silence of the night, she thought she discovered the reason. The fear of attachment was what held her back; what made her leave the station when another tribute tried to talk to her; what made her push everyone who tried to get close away.

Unlike her unnervingly optimistic district partners, she didn't pretend that everything was going to be okay. She had heard them talking to their mentor the day before, trying to develop a strategy for after the bloodbath. _But who says they'll make it out alive?_ It didn't take a fool to know they had a large target plastered on their back already, with the Capitol's negative reception to them and all. If she had to guess, their podium will have accidentally blown up before the timer even reached 0.

She had let her sister in, but after she died, her death had broken Sereina. She didn't want to be broken twice over. Unlike Gadget and Gizmo, she wasn't going to pretend it wasn't going to happen. It was.

Speaking of zero, her ears listened as a clock chimed four somewhere in the distance. Two red zeros blinked on the alarm clock next to her, making her wince slightly due to their brightness. Five hours left until training began. Feeling somewhat antsy, and not wanting to stare into the blinding red light for hours more, she stood to her feet.

The floor was strangely warm. Perhaps all the thought of blazing stars and bright red lights had wiggled their way into her mind, causing it to play with her perception of reality. Still, as her feet found their way through the sea of black, the floor didn't cool.

Eventually she found herself out in the hallway, which was just as dark—if not darker, then her bedroom. The blank white tile was replaced by a luxurious red carpet, yet in the black of the night, she couldn't tell if it was purple or green or red. She wriggled her bare feet around in it, letting it envelop her toes. Then she began to walk.

Truthfully, she had no idea where she was going. After a while of walking she passed the ajar door to Gadget and Gizmo's room. Her eyes had slowly adjusted to the light, and now she could see general objects, but everything was still grey and black. Peering inside, she saw that the two were fast asleep, their bodies rising and falling slowly to a steady beat. She hadn't been able to sleep that well since before the fire that had taken her sister's life.

Continuing on, she made her way into a room filled with fancy vases and plush couches. Strangely enough, she felt herself captivate not towards the solid gold table, nor the pillows so soft they could be mistaken for clouds. Instead she found her feet move towards the simplest object in the room, a plain window hidden behind colorless curtains.

The unknown had always frightened her slightly, so she felt a lump of anxiety form when she stood in front of the curtains, wondering whether or not to open them. Deciding against it, she turned back towards the hallway. Yet before she could exit the room, a draft blew through the room, blowing the curtains open behind her.

 _Strange._ She had assumed the building was architecturally sound and very secure, without any room for drafts. It was almost as if the draft was unnatural, like a fan blowing air. A chill ran up her spine as she turned around to face the now opened window.

Her hazel eyes widened as she marveled at the scene that lay before her. A million blinking lights streamed out of buildings near and far, the room no longer lost in a sea of darkness. A stray car sped by on the street below, its headlights disappearing as soon as they came. A city sparkled with light—all of it so close, just out of reach. It was as if she was placed in the center of the universe, a billion stars swirling around her.

A small part of her wished someone else was here to share the beautiful moment with, perhaps save her from her isolated island lost in the middle of the vast sea. The bright lights only made her feel more alone, like she was lost in the middle of the universe as opposed to the ocean. She felt the urge to go wake her sleeping district partners up—maybe they would make her feel less alone. But then she remembered she they were all going to die within two weeks anyways, so what was even the point? For years she had been isolated on her desolate planet in the middle of the universe. Her sister had been the only other planet in her galaxy, but now, she was gone too. In two more weeks, her galaxy would be empty; a black void surrounded by a million far away stars. But no one would notice, no one would care. Their eyes would only move afrom one bright object to another, totally skipping over the small black void that had been her short life.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District Two Male._

The clock chimed nine, signaling training had begun. Yet, he found himself still on the second floor, his mentors ushering him and Lena towards the elevator.

"Goodness, we are late!" Henna, his mentor, exclaimed as she pushed Lena into the elevator and pressed the close door button repeatedly. "I hate being late, don't you Elibus?"

Elibus, his other mentor, only nodded gruffly. From what Alaric had seen of him, he was not a morning person, and wasn't awake until at least lunch. He on the other hand found himself most awake in the mornings—it was when he was most alert and observant of his surrounds. And it wasn't hard to tell that his district partner wasn't the least bit thrilled for training. Even a blind person could see her nostrils fuming.

He had been keeping a tight leash on her, trying to control what she said and did around the District One tributes the past few days. Their alliance was his key to winning, and he was the glue to keeping it intact. But it was growing increasingly harder with each hour that ticked by. Lena's desire for revenge was growing stronger, and with it, her defiance to their plan. It was yesterday that she began to say some unsettling things, along with giving their supposed allies death glares every few minutes. Kaeleah didn't seem to notice, as she was off in her bubbly giggly world for half the time, but Eris—he began to take note of such occurrences. He'd shiver at the glares Lena gave him, and Alaric could guess his suspicion was only growing.

The elevator door opened, revealing the bustling training room. Only a few minutes into the day, and most tributes were already at work, desperately trying to fit in some last minute skills that could save their lives in the arena. He wasn't so hectic—he didn't find the need for it. He had been training for this for two years, what more could he learn in three days? Instead, he was using most of this time to watch others, learn their Achilles' heels. The remainder of it was used to keep his fiery district partner in check and out of trouble. She was like a child, constantly needing to be watched and taken care of.

Lena and he exited the elevator, leaving their two mentors behind. However, before they could meet with their allies, Alaric grabbed Lena's arm and pulled her to the side.

"Don't touch me moron," she hissed at him, pulling her arm away from his strong grip with a forceful tug.

He hissed back at her. "I won't if you listen to me," he replied, his tone harsher than it had been the previous days. He was beginning to get fed up with her defiance—he needed to be assertive if he was going to get his message across. "You need to b—"

"I don't listen to idiots," she retorted, placing her hands on her hips. Turning around, she began to walk away. Alaric grabbed her arm again, pulling her back.

Curling her face into a frown, she tried to pull away, yet was unsuccessful. He kept his grip tighter this time so she wouldn't escape. "You said you wouldn't touch me," she spat at him.

"Well you weren't listening sweetheart," he jeered back, tightening his grip on her arm. Lena once again tried to pull away, but was unsuccessful yet again.

"If you don't let go of me I'll make a scene," she threatened, her gaze drifting to the guards positioned at the corners of the room. A few were already looking their way, and she gave them a sly smile before turning back to Alaric.

Returning that same sly smile, Alaric tightened his grip farther. "I dare you," he retorted, which only made her madder. Her face twisted into a grimace and she narrowed her dark green eyes at him, giving Alaric the same death glare normally reserved for the District One tributes.

Lena yanked her arm backwards, causing Alaric to release his grip on her wrist. She huffed, turned dramatically, and began to angrily stomp off towards the station where their allies were already practicing.

"That's what I thought!" Alaric called after her, a smug smirk plastered on his face. He knew she was too cowardly to make a scene in front of all the tributes—if they saw her whining, they would think she was weak and go after her. He once again had played her like a fiddle.

Running to catch up with her, Alaric eventually caught up to her fast steps. She didn't dare speak again, at least not until they met the District One tributes at the hand-to-hand combat station.

"Hey," Alaric greeted Kaeleah and Eris, each waiting in line for a turn to spar with a muscled trainer. Currently, the boy from Ten was giving the trainer a run for his money as his district partner stood by and watched attentively.

Kaeleah gave him an excited wave, skipping over to where the angry Lena was brooding. For the past two days, she had seemed to always want to talk to Lena, and never really to him. When he asked Eris why, he said Kaeleah had told him it was girl stuff. Slightly odd, but he didn't think much of it. He was much more worried about Lena getting annoyed with the bubbly girl and perhaps saying something threatening that could tear their alliance in two.

"What's her deal?" Eris asked, pointing to where Lena stood cross armed. Like he had said before, a blind person could tell she was unhappy. Alaric only shrugged and gave his ally a grin.

"I think she's just cranky in the morning," he replied with a snort.

Eris rolled his light brown eyes. "More like cranky always," he chuckled, turning his attention back to Alaric. "Does she have something against us?"

Holding back a laugh, Alaric shook his head back and forth. "No, she's just shy I think," he lied, watching Lena out of the corner of his eye. Kaeleah was chattering to her happily, asking her a million and a half questions about her life back home. Lena would only reply with a one word answer, such as a simple yes or no. Her anger only seemed to be growing with every passing second, almost like a bubble ready to burst.

Alaric's attention then drifted to the station, where the District Ten boy had just been shoved to the ground. His district partner was helping him to his feet, telling him a joke that must have been funny, for it made him laugh. _They looked close._ Alaric couldn't help but wonder if he took out one, the other would follow soon after.

"Next up," the muscled trainer called to Eris. Eris then looked to Kaeleah, who was still hopelessly trying to get Lena to talk to her.

"Hey!" The blonde boy called to Kaeleah, grabbing her attention. "Your turn, I want to see how you do against him."

Kaeleah laughed, skipping over to the ring. However, just as she was entering, Lena came stomping over, her nostrils still fuming with anger.

"Who died and crowned you leader?" She inquired, giving Eris a hard poke in the chest.

Giving her a slightly confused look, he took a step backwards. "I'm not the leader, I was just—"

Lena didn't want to hear any of it. "Well, you were giving Kaeleah and I orders. Only leaders give orders. So to me, you are a leader," she replied, her tone harsh and unforgiving.

"I—"

Now it was Alaric who cut him off. He lunged forwards, grabbing Lena's wrist with a strong grip and pulling her back towards him. "What she means to say is that we didn't have an official leader, and we wanted to possibly elect one today," he quickly replied, thinking on his feet.

Eris nodded his head slightly, yet didn't seem to buy it entirely. "Well, I'm open to anything." Kaeleah agreed, nodding her head in unison with Eris.

Lena yanked her arm away, giving Alaric another wicked scowl. "If you are open to anything, I'm sure you'll be fine with me being leader. Actually, you don't really have a choice, because I'm not taking orders from anyone else," she barked through gritted teeth. Then, without warning, she turned her back and stalked off.

Alaric sighed. _She always acted like such a child._ He was beginning to wonder if she was more of a liability then she was a good thing, as she always created more problems than she solved. Yet, she was his key to winning, and without her, the upcoming days in the arena could be his last.

Winning was never supposed to be easy.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District Twelve Female._

Arilli liked her district partner. She really did. He was kind and funny, always optimistic. Yesterday when they were at the archery station, Cinder hadn't hit the target at all. His arrows always clattered to the ground feet in front of the target, never reaching the red and white bullseye. Yet, he didn't look the bit dismayed. He had just smiled at her and said, "The only way I can go is up!"

His comment had made her laugh, like many had before. He always seemed to go out of his way to make her giggle—to see her lips curve into a rare smile. He always listened intently to what she had to say, whether it was about how to properly hold a knife or what food was her favorite. He always accompanied her everywhere she went, even if he obviously didn't want to go. For the first time in a long time, he had made her feel like she wasn't alone in the world.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder if he had ulterior motives. It was clear he wanted something—people just don't walk up to a girl with half her faced burned off and smile for nothing. In order to capture the queen, other pieces needed to be sacrificed. She of all people knew that best.

She didn't entirely trust him, _could he really be that friendly and want nothing from her?_ Yet again, she didn't trust anyone anymore. Especially that girl from Five, the one who stared at the one boy on earth who didn't think she was a monster, like he was a light snack. She knew the girl wanted him for some crazy plan of hers—her icy blue eyes were cold and calculating and surely hid a manipulative brain. All her life she had been on the lookout for those type of eyes; they were the same eyes as the man who had thrown acid in her eyes; the same cold and calculating look as the people who had plotted to kill her uncle. It wasn't an accident the girl had bumped into her two days ago. She knew those eyes were up to no good.

"So, what do you think we should do this afternoon?" Cinder asked, causing Arilli to pull her head away from the girl's icy eyes on the opposite side of the dining hall. She blinked at Cinder, shrugging her shoulders.

"Then I think we should hit all the survival stations one last time, make sure we are good for the games. Especially the water purifying one, as water is our first priority. We will need it if we want to survive far into the games." He continued, though Arilli was only half listening.

We was the one word that stuck out to her. _We. We, as in team._ Cinder still hadn't brought up the whole alliance thing yet. Arilli guessed he was waiting for her to say something. He probably guessed that they were going to be aligned because they had spent every single hour of training together—like the twins from Three. Yet, Arilli wasn't sure if that was going to be the case. Yes, she liked Cinder—she considered him her friend. _But could she trust him?_ That was another thing onto itself.

"Hey Cinder," another voice, one that she instantly recognized, greeted. Arilli looked up, her eyes meeting the dreaded gaze that was always on her mind. _Lux._ "I was wondering if you wanted to get a Popsicle with me. They're serving them for dessert right now."

Cinder smiled wide, nodding his head rapidly. "Of course! I love popsicles, they are my favorite food! Don't you think it's so cool how a frozen thing can be on a stick and taste delicious? It's so amazing! Have you tried one yet? They're so good!" He exclaimed excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in his chair. Arilli held back a giggle, thinking his enthusiasm was funny.

"No, I actually haven't," Lux replied, not even cracking a smile. Her eyes drifted to Arilli, then back to Cinder. "Maybe on the walk you could tell me more about them?"

Springing to his feet, her district partner nodded his head rapidly. "Definitely!" He chorused, beginning to walk towards the line forming by the buffet table. Yet, before he got too far away, he glanced back at Arilli.

"Want to come with us?" He asked, giving her a giant grin. Arilli shook her head in response, not wanting to do anything with the blue eyed girl who sent a chill running down her spine whenever she even opened her mouth.

Cinder turned and continued to chatter to Lux about how amazing the frozen treats were. Suprisingly, Arilli felt a bit jealous. Cinder was her friend—he knew she wasn't a fan of Lux. _How could he betray her like that?_ But in reality, she knew just why. It wasn't a coincidence Lux knew that popsicles were Cinder's favorite food. With those icy eyes, she must have been studying him, gathering information to use like ammo. She was playing him like a fiddle, and he was too naïve to see that. But she—she wasn't. She knew too about lying and cheating.

The brown haired girl watched as Cinder joyously unwrapped his Popsicle and began to lick it. Lux was talking to him, motioning over to the table where she was sitting. Lux nodded at the tall boy who was protecting their table like a watchdog. Then she glanced over to Arilli, narrowing her icy blue eyes at the girl. She felt a chill run down her spine and Cinder looked at her with wide eyes—as if he had just committed a crime. He gulped, turning back to Lux. More talking. More looks. More gulps. More guilty faces; more narrowed eyes.

Then Cinder did something she never thought he would do. _Leave._

He headed back with Lux, taking a seat next to the watchdog. Throughout the rest of lunch, he continued to spare her guilty glances, as if he was saying sorry for what he did. She felt a swarm of emotions hit her like a tidal wave: anger, sadness, betrayal. She should have known better then to trust Cinder, a boy she only met a few days prior. Still, she couldn't help but miss him slightly.

"Check," she imagined Lux saying with a sly smile that fooled everyone but her.

Although her king was in trouble—the queen wasn't going down without a fight.

* * *

 _Chance Marrow, 17, District Ten Male._

"I'm bored," Marena yawned as she wrangled another dummy with the rope her and Chance had made into a lasso. "We have been doing this for hours, don't you think we should do something else?"

Chance shrugged, glancing around the training room. Everybody seemed to be slowing down, including him and his district partner. He guessed it was a combination of the big lunch they had just all eaten and exhaustion from training for three straight days. A clock chimed four, signaling they only had an hour left until training commenced.

Lassoing another still dummy, Chance felt a yawn escape his lips as well. "How about a nap?" He said jokingly, his tone playful.

Marena grinned, dropping the rope to the ground and spinning around wildly to face him. "You are always just full of good ideas Chancey my boy," she chimed, her tone playful as well. Yet, from what he knew about her from the past few days, her playful tone also meant she was serious.

"Wait, really?" Chance asked, his eyes widening. "I thought we weren't allowed to leave the training room until five."

"Exactly," Marena chuckled, throwing her hands up into the air in excitement. A few tributes looked their way, and Chance glanced downwards at his shuffling feet. He had never liked attention much, especially from his peers. Although he put on a persona that he didn't care what they thought—he really did. He cared more than anything. If people thought he was weird—or worse—gay—he didn't know what he would do with himself. Especially here in the Capitol where a single word such as gay could label a person for a lifetime.

Chance smiled, pushing his nervousness away and replacing it with a playful persona to match Marena's. Being with her had been good for him, she was so spontaneous and wild, and didn't care much what people thought of her. He had been trying to replicate her behavior in hopes that maybe it would become instinctive if he did it enough. As his boyfriend back at home said, "Fake it until you make it." Although in that context, it meant flirting with girls, Chance still decided it applied to this situation.

Replicating her devious smile, Chance nodded his head. "I'm in."

Marena clapped her hands together, excited that he had decided to join in on her plan. "Alright, plan naptime is in action. First phase is to get past the guards," she chirped, her eyes flickering over to the two peacekeepers stationed near the elevator. They were clad in uniform, their faces expressionless.

"I got this," Chance replied, taking a step forwards towards the guards. Lying was easy—he had been doing it for years about his sexuality, so it was second nature to him when he approached the guards with a concerned expression on his face.

The guards looked up when he approached, giving him a wary glance, as if they knew something was up. "No exiting the room until five without permission from a mentor first," one blurted out in a monotone voice, as if he had been trained to say it over and over again.

"Um—well—" he began to stutter awkwardly. "I—I don't really know how to put this, but my district partner isn't feeling too well. She—"

The guard cut him off, silencing Chance in the middle of his sentence. "We have medics stationed next to the cafeteria. If she is sick, then she can go to them," the same guard said in the same monotone voice as before.

Chance shook his head back and forth, giving a fake concerned look to Marena. She got the memo, contorting her face into a grimace and stumbling up to where Chance and the guards were talking. "Well—she's not sick. It's just—I don't know how to put this without being awkward—it's just—"

"Spit it out son," the other guard ordered.

"It's her time of month," Chance blurted out, glancing back to Marena who was now next to him. She nodded her head, as to confirm it to the guards.

The guard on the left began to look a bit pale, as if the idea itself bothered him. Chance knew it creeped out most guys, but it had never really bothered him. But then again, he wasn't most guys.

"Yeah," Marena began, picking up where Chance had left off. "I get these really bad cramps, and the blood just keeps flowing and flowing and it just hurts a bunch." The guard on the left became even paler, while the one on the right glanced away, a bit uncomfortable. Marena continued. "I have this teddy bear I brought here from home that I need to squeeze in order to make the cramps hurt less. Plus, I need to chance my tampon, my flow is heavy an—"

The guard on the right huffed, clicking the elevator button open. "Just go," he gritted, he too turning a bit pale. Chance couldn't help but grin as he and Marena stepped into the elevator and watched the doors close in front of them.

"That was awesome!" Marena exclaimed the second the elevator doors shut. "You are such a good liar, you know that, right? I hope you never lie to me, because I'd never know the difference!"

Chance chuckled, thinking back to Ira and his "fake" girlfriend that he had to hide the fact that he was gay. If Marena thought he was a good liar, he could only imagine what she would think of his neurotic boyfriend who was pretty much a pathological liar.

"You too," he returned the compliment. "All that stuff about the blood, you are a natural!"

Marena's cheeks turned a bit red as the elevator reached the fifth floor. "Thanks. But weren't you a little disgusted by it?"

Chance opened his mouth to say no, but stopped himself. A normal boy would say yes. _What if he said no and Marena realized his secret? Would they still be friends? Allies even?_ He couldn't help but think of that as another lie rolled off his tongue. "Yeah, a bit," he lied, shrugging his shoulders.

Marena chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Be glad you aren't a girl then."

He laughed as the doors slid open, revealing their tenth floor suite. "Yeah," he replied with a grin, hopping out of the elevator.

Walking over to his room, he waved goodbye Marena before entering. "I dedicate this nap to the badasses!" He exclaimed before shutting his door and collapsing onto his bed in exhaustion. They made a good team, but with all the lies circulating, he couldn't help but wonder how long they would last.

* * *

 **A/N: Whew, training is over! Next up is the private sessions, then onto the interviews/interview prep! Then it's the games :0 We're getting close y'all! Hope you liked this last training chapter, it was fun to write. I tried to mention everyone at least once in training, the only person I think I failed with was Abrielle, but she'll get some time later so we'll see.**

 **Questions: Favorite POV? Favorite alliance of all the chapters? Favorite characters? What would your favorite food be if you were at the Capitol?**

 **Alliances** :

 **Careers** : Eris, Kaeleah, Alaric, Lena

 **Shepard and her Sheep** : Lux, Jaxs, Cinder

 **Tree Huggers Plus One** : Raleigh, Tristan, Celeste

 **Rebel Chicks** : Tessserae, Grace

 **Boys just want to have Fun** : Basil, Merino

 **Badasses** : Chance, Marena

 **Loners:** Gadget & Gizmo, Sereina, Albert, Nerida, Abrielle, Draven, Velicity, Arilli

 **One last thing! If you are behind on reviews, don't feel the need to have to catch up real fast! I know I am updating this story quickly. Please read at your own pace, and know that once school starts, updates will slow to like twice/once a month.**

 **paper :)**


	25. Private Sessions: Remember Me

_Private Sessions: Remember Me_

* * *

 _Kaeleah Stonegate, 16, District One Female._

She was sweating.

A lot.

Like major pit stain sweat; like swimming pools nestled deep in her armpit sweat. It was a sweat that wasn't caused solely by her raging teenage hormones, but rather a nervousness and feeling off butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A sweat that only appeared when she thought of her father.

She wasn't supposed to be thinking of him this week. _How many times did she need to remind herself that her tormentor was hundreds of miles away? That he couldn't hurt her any longer? That she was supposed to be having the time of her life here, when really, she was still as scared and neurotic as she had always been?_

"Kaeleah Stonegate," a monotone voice crackled over a loud speaker, summoning her into the private training room. Standing to her feet, she felt 23 pairs of eyes land on her. She gave them all fake smiles, her teeth easily blending into the white walls; white floors; white ceilings. Everything, white.

Then, trying to ease her jittery nerves, Kaeleah let out a soft giggle. As she nervously made her way to the white door, it didn't even occur to her that maybe her smiles and giggles meant to hide her nervousness was really just another mask—a replacement for her old one she wore at home. Her laughs had replaced her shy mannerisms; her smiles were the same as her stoned faced expressions. Even here, miles away from her home, she couldn't show her true colors. She hid the reds and blues and purples behind a colorless grin.

The room she entered was the same as the prior: white. A glass window was positioned at one end of the room, while all the weapons were lain out at the other end. Behind the window dozens of people in plain suits mulled about, their eyes all locked on her.

"You have ten minutes to show the gamemakers your skills," the same monotone voice that had called her name before instructed. Kaeleah smiled at the people behind the glass, trying to distract them from her trembling hands and twitching feet.

 _Her father would see the score. What if it wasn't good enough for him? Would he come find her in the Capitol and make his disappointment known? No, he wouldn't. But could he?_ No. Stop worrying. The sweat began to roll down her arms and legs, coating her body.

Smiling again, she made her way over to the rack of spears. Picking one up, she noticed it felt heavier than normal. She had been training for an entire year for this moment—she had thrown a million spears at a million different targets until she could hit the bulls-eye with her eyes closed. But now, at this moment, Kaeleah doubted she could hit the target even with her eyes open.

Kaeleah had trouble gripping the first spear. Her hands were clammy, and when she hurled the spear at the target, it slipped out from her grasp, landing nowhere near the target. A few people behind the glass sighed—probably thinking she hadn't gone through a year of training prior—and only volunteered because she was crazy. _They had no idea the real reason she volunteered was because of her abusive father and his threats. No notion that the bubbly girl smiling in front of them was trying so hard to be free, yet after living a whole life in chains, didn't know how to live without a white mask._

She ended up hitting the target five times out of ten—subpar. A countdown clock behind the glass blinked 2:12, telling her she only had two minutes to show the judges that she was better than this. However, she couldn't bring herself to show the judges anything more. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from how bright the colorless room was, and she was beginning to feel quite faint under the bright lights.

So, she turned, and smiled a very white smile.

The gamemakers couldn't tell all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and scream. She yearned to cry tears of blue; rub her eyes until they were a bright red; bury herself under blankets of brown wool; let the yellow sun warm her until all she felt was joy.

Instead she just smiled a very white smile, and pretended everything was alright.

* * *

 _Albert Quarius, 15, District Four Male._

"Albert Quarius," the loudspeaker crackled, causing the young boy to raise his head.

Standing to his feet, Albert whipped his head around, trying to locate where the voice was coming from. "Who called my name?" He hissed, glaring at the remaining tributes sitting in the room, all anxiously waiting for their own name to be called.

"The—uh—gamemakers d—" A girl with a seven on her back stuttered, but Albert cut her off.

Pointing his finger at her, Albert snarled. "You! If you are going to address me, you have to do it by my full title, Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas!" He hollered, catching the attention of most all the other tributes in the room. Some snickered, while others looked at him, their eyes wide with fear. Others didn't seem to care—their minds lost in their own thoughts.

"Fine, Albert Quarius, _son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas_ , it's your turn to go in for your private session," the boy sitting next to her replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. A few more people in the room began to giggle, amused by Albert's reaction.

"You landlubbers won't be laughing at me once I kill you all!" Albert screeched, his hoarse voice echoing off the white walls of the room. It filled his ears again, ringing and ringing in an endless cycle that never seemed to end. He then whipped around, stomping towards the door angrily. _Those idiots have no idea who they are talking to. Me, they are making fun of me! Who do they even think they are?_

The room he entered was as white as the last. White walls; white floors; white everything. Among other things, such as landlubbers, chicken, sand, and people not referring to him by his full title—he hated the color white. It was a weak color, paling in comparison to the dark black of the flag flying high on his ship or the deep blue of the vast sea that held many secrets.

"Landlubbers have such poor taste in color," he muttered to himself loudly. This caught the attention of one of the gamemakers behind the glass, who gave him a confused look.

"Excuse me son?" The gamemaker asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy with the fiery red hair.

Albert chuckled, raising his eyes to challenge those of the gamemaker. "I said landlubbers have such poor taste in color," he repeated, giving the man a scowl. The gamemaker's expression only grew more confused.

"Uh—alright Albert, you h—"

"It's Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas," Albert corrected.

"Uh—Albert Quarius, son of uh—the most notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas, you have ten minutes to show us what you have learned in training," the head gamemaker instructed, pressing a button that started a clock in the far-right corner of the room.

Albert smiled, turning towards the rows of weapons and stations behind him. It was a bit overwhelming how many stations there were, especially since he hadn't made a plan of what he was going to show the gamemakers before he entered the room. On the left side of the room, a shiny sword caught his eye, and he began to make his way towards it. Lifting it up, he began to swing it around.

Behind the glass, the gamemakers were beginning to scribble down notes on Albert. _Those landlubbers are probably blown away by my skills_ , Albert thought to himself, jabbing the sword into the chest of an invisible tribute. _He would surely get a ten, if not an eleven on twelve. Then he'd win, and go back to District Four where he'd make all those landlubbers pay for letting him go to the games._

After all his invisible opponents were defeated, Albert made his way over to the weights station. First, he picked up a one-pound weight and held it high above his head. The gamemakers rolled their eyes, not impressed. He then picked up the five-pound weight, doing the same. The gamemakers still didn't seem to care, their eyes drifting to different parts of the room. They were losing interest.

"Hey, watch this!" Albert called up to them, catching most of their attentions. Wrapping his fingers around a silver barbell with a sixty-pound weight on both sides, he lifted it high into the air. He then held it above his head for a solid ten seconds. The gamemakers began to furiously scribble on their white sheets again. _Albert is so amazing, he imagined them writing. He is so strong, and will win the games for sure. We have never seen a tribute as great as him._

 _A million flashing lights, a million different people roaring his name. "Albert! Albert!" They'd cheer. He'd be bathed in riches, practically swimming in gold. No longer would he be known as Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas. Instead, people would call him Albert Quarius, the winner of the 10th Hunger Games and greatest tribute to ever live._

Setting the barbell down, he slid two more twenty-pound weights onto both sides of the bar. With a grunt, he lifted it off the ground. A few of the gamemaker's eyes widened, curious to see if he could lift 160 pounds.

Yet, he couldn't. The barbell came crashing down, clattering to the ground with a loud bang. Albert growled, angrily kicking the barbell with his left foot. "Stupid weight!" He roared, continuing to kick the weight.

A few minutes into his temper tantrum, the clock began to beep, signaling his ten minutes were up. "Thank you, it was a pleasure," the head gamemaker smiled, waiving him out of the room.

"Yeah, I know," Albert replied with a scowl, giving the barbell one last angry kick before stomping out of the room. Slamming the door behind him, Albert stomped up to his room, angry that the stupid barbell had ruined his score of an eleven.

* * *

 _Nina Esteves, Head Gamemaker._

The boy shooting arrows below her was forgettable. _Cinis?_ No, that wasn't it. _Cerulean? Ash? Dust?_ No, no and no. He was so forgettable she couldn't even remember his name. In two weeks, he'd probably be dead and the Capitol would forget the name of the poor boy from Twelve who was just mediocre at shooting arrows. She couldn't help but wonder if he had a story to tell. Surely, he was more than just a footnote in history; a pawn in the Capitol's games.

 _Cinder Newport, aged 14,_ the sheet in front of her read. It was a crisp white half sheet of paper, the boy's name written at the top in plain black letters. Below his name was a dozen or so lines where she was supposed to write up what he showed the gamemakers and anything else she picked up about him. Quirks, personality. If he would be good or not for TV. That type of stuff.

However, she felt stumped. He was the 24th tribute she had seen, and she was beginning to tire of scribbling: _mediocre at archery or OK w/ a knife._ She wanted to write something more personal for the tributes, something that would make them more than just "the boy from Eight" or "the girl with the blonde hair". Sure, there were a few outliers stuffed in the pile of papers, but those were far and few in between. More often than not they were mundane; boring.

Forgettable.

And all those forgettable footnotes in history were beginning to take a toll on her psyche. The blood from seven years of mundane tributes was beginning to cloud her brain—visit her in her dreams every night. She had killed hundreds, but only could remember a handful of them. The rest were lost to her—to history. Their memories only remembered by a select few, sometimes by none.

A timer on her desk began to beep, signaling ten minutes had passed. The boy—Cinder—glanced up at her with wide eyes. She nodded at him, and he began to put the bows and arrows away. After he was done, a peacekeeper helped him to the door and out of the room.

She pressed her pencil to the blank paper and began to write.

 _Put the equipment away—likes to help out? Seems like a sweet kid._

Nina didn't need to say that he was a nice kid. She could have just written: OK with arrows. That would have been sufficient; it would have been enough. _So why did she take the time to do it?_ In all honesty, she didn't quite know the answer herself.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the extra burst on energy she got knowing he was the last one of the day.

But it was probably guilt.

Her fellow gamemakers began to shift in their seats, taking their assessment papers and heading to the door eagerly. Behind the wall, a grand feast of meats and cheeses and wine lay spread out on a massive table, just waiting for someone to dig in. Feeling her stomach rumble, Nina stood and joined the others, papers in hand.

. . .

Two hours and five glasses of wine later, Nina stood out on the third-floor balcony, her eyes reddened from crying—her cheeks stained wet with salty tears. The night was a cool one—a northern breeze blew past, sending a chill up her spine. Goosebumps dotted her exposed legs and arms.

"Nina, please, come back inside. It's cold out here," her wife, and fellow gamemaker, Rosetta cooed from the open doorway behind her. A faint chatter could be heard from inside the room, where others were still drunkenly chattering amongst themselves.

Nina shook her head mutely, taking another sip of her wine. "I deserve the cold," she replied through gritted teeth, her tone somewhat bitter.

Chuckling slightly, Rosetta took a step forwards, out into the cold of the night. "Why would you say that? You are only doing your job, like the rest of us."

"Exactly," Nina drunkenly slurred, her eyelids drooping slightly. "My job is the reason I deserve the cold."

Holding back another laugh, Rosetta took another step closer, attempting to interlace her and Nina's fingers. "Then I guess I deserve it too, huh?"

"It's not a thing to laugh about," Nina snapped angrily, pulling away from her wife. "We are killing kids, Rosetta. We're taking their lives. One minute they are here, and the next, poof. They're gone, forgotten."

"Technically, they are killing each other so you shouldn't f— "

Rosetta didn't get to finish, for Nina cut her off. "Don't play dumb with me. We, us, you and I, we are the ones murdering them. No one but us is responsible for their lives, and you know it. We are the reason 23 more are going to die next week!"

"Sweetheart, don't you think you are being a bit irrational?" Rosetta asked calmly, placing a hand on Nina's bony shoulder.

"No!" Nina hollered, yanking her arm away. "You think _I'm_ being irrational?! _Me?!_ Isn't it irrational to want to kill children to get some sort of sick and twisted revenge?!"

The chatter from inside the room seemed to quiet. Rosetta's once gentle expression seemed to fade, replaced by one of worry and anxiousness. "Nina, please. You need to calm down a bit. Someone might hear us."

Silence. For a few minutes, the two stood in the cold of the night, listening to the soft sounds of the city. The honking of cars, the music of some far away club. The cries of a child in the street below, the chattering of people from the room inside.

Then the tears began to flow. First like a drizzle, then a downpour. She felt a gentle hand rub her back, and this time—she didn't pull away.

"I—I—just want something to remember them by. Something to make me feel less guilty for what I'm doing, s—something to remind me that they're people too. I don't w—want to just remember them as a number, or as the kid who is bad with a knife," Nina mumbled through tears.

Her wife nodded, seeming to understand. "I'll be right back," she whispered, prying her hand off Nina's shoulder and disappearing back into the building. A few minutes later, she returned, a stack of white papers in hand.

"Come," Rosetta motioned Nina over to a pair of chairs next to the door. Nina trudged over, plopping herself down in the luxurious velvet seat.

A white paper was handed to her. On the top was written a name, _Kaeleah_ _Stonegate_ , the girl's district, _One,_ and her age, _16._ Scribbled in the blank below was the note: _expecting more, a volunteer? OK with a spear—hit 50%. Possibly hiding something, can't put a finger on it. Secret talent?_

"She had a nice smile," Rosetta remarked, giving her wife a weak grin. "Didn't you think so?"

Nina nodded her head mutely, finding herself grinning too. "It was very pretty; her teeth were so white I could have sworn they were pearls."

Rosetta took the sheet, scribbling something down. Nina craned her neck, squinting her eyes to read what her wife just wrote.

 _When she smiled, her teeth were so white they looked like pearls._

"A way to remember her," Nina whispered, instantly getting the idea. "It's perfect."

Taking the next sheet, Nina read the name off the top. _Eris Valliano_ _. District One. Aged 18_. Below was the note. _Strong, obviously trained. Kopis = weapon of choice. Make sure to put in cornicop. Beheaded & stabbed dummies w/ ease. Very focused. Potent winner. _

"Oh, I remember him!" Rosetta exclaimed, taking the sheet out of Nina's hands. "He was super handsome, like a knight in shining armor!"

Narrowing her eyes, Nina couldn't help but hold back a laugh. The mood on the balcony had taken a total 180—solemn to playful. "But you don't even like men!" Nina giggled, playfully rolling her eyes at Rosetta.

"I know, but can't a gay girl appreciate a nice-looking guy?" Rosetta questioned, playfully raising an eyebrow at Nina. Nina only shook her head and scribbled a few words down on the paper.

 _So handsome, made a gay girl swoon._

"Really?" Rosetta sighed, shaking her head back and forth. Nina only cracked her a sly grin.

Next was Lena Evangelos, the girl from District Two. _Excellent with a bladed baton/double sword, easily killed dummies. Trained. Fought like a wild animal, nostrils flaring. Winning potent._

Nina wrote: _H_ _ad a death glare so scary she could kill a tribute w/ it alone._

Holding back a snort, Rosetta picked up the next sheet. "Lena, she was so scary. Remember when she looked at us after she was done? She looked like she was going to murder us before she got in the arena."

Nodding her head mutely in agreement, Nina scanned over the next sheet. _Alaric Pyre. District Two. Aged 18. Sparred with trainer using sword. Not necessarily good with sword, but read trainer very well. Knew trainer's next move in advance. Potent winner._

"He was the one that looked like a ghost!" Rosetta chimed, taking from Nina's hands. She wrote the words she had just spoken down before placing the sheet aside and picking up the next.

The two went on this way for a while, picking up the different sheets and taking turns reading them off to each other, laughing and giggling in the process. Some were easier to fill out than others, as most tributes, though Nina didn't like to think so, were ultimately forgettable. With each specialized note Nina wrote, whether it was about a tribute's unique appearance or special mannerism they possessed, seemed to make the heavy weight on her shoulders soften. By the end of the night, the guilt had left her body completely.

All she was left with was a plethora of comments, and a terrible hangover that lasted far into the next day.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I went away for two weeks and now school's beginning to start, so updates are going to be biweekly/triweekly now most likely. I'm a bit out of practice for this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed the POVs nonetheless.**

 **Questions: Who do you think is going to get the best score? Worst score? What do you think your score would be if you were in the games?**

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	26. Score Reveal: Expect the Unexpected

_Score Reveal: Expect the Unexpected_

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18, District Five Male._

"Hey Jaxs, want to join me for dinner?" Lux questioned, poking her head through the doorway to his private room. Jaxs glanced upwards, his gaze meeting her icy blue one.

Nodding his head, the blonde boy made his way to his feet. "Sure, I'd love to," he replied politely, heading towards his bed. "Just let me make my bed first, then I'll come."

Jaxs heard his district partner huff as her body slumped up against the doorframe. "You know, you aren't at home anymore. Those house rules you were talking about—having a napkin on your lap and always cleaning up after yourself—they don't apply here. Forget about making your bed and just come eat with me," Lux barked, blinking her blue eyes a few times at him.

His gaze flickered to Lux, then back to his unmade bed. His instincts told him to finishing tidying up his bed—just as he had learned at home—but his district partner was telling him something different.

"But—"

Jaxs heard Lux huff angrily again. "No buts. Just come eat dinner with me and worry about your bed later," she ordered, her tone changing from slightly friendly to completely harsh and commanding. Jaxs, not liking to go against orders, obediently followed her into the hallway and out into the kitchen. His bed was left unmade.

Waiting for them on the silver counter-top was a buffet of food—more than the skinny boy could probably wolf down in a lifetime. Meats, cheeses, vegetables, desserts: everything imaginable was laid out before them. Lux quickly ran up to the buffet, piling pieces of pizza and chocolate cookies high onto her plate.

After she had finished selecting her food, Jaxs took a golden plate from beside the buffet and began to line his plate with all the same stuff Lux had—pizzas and cookies, cakes and carbs. Everything looked so good, it was making his mouth water in delight. After he was done, he made his way over to the table and sat beside Lux.

However, before he could dig into his meal of pure sugar and carbs, Lux stopped him, grabbing the plate and pulling it over to her side of the table. "You can't be eating this stuff right before the games!" She exclaimed.

"I guess I shouldn't be," Jaxs murmured, lustfully looking at his plate. He wanted to stuff his face into the food more than anything else in the world. However, Lux did have a point. Putting that food into his body would cause him to be in far worse shape for the upcoming games that would determine if he lived or died. "But why are you eating it?"

Lux paused, her food-filled mouth hanging open for a split second. Jaxs wrinkled his nose at the disgusting sight of chewed up cake and pizza. She had absolutely no manners. Not talking while eating was one of the first rules his parents taught him.

"Well—uh—girls' bodies are different from guys'. First of all, we—uh—digest food much faster, which is why I can eat all this crap a few days before the game starts," Lux lied, giving him another food-filled smile. Jaxs couldn't help but wince at the sight. "Boys digest their food much slower, which is why you need to only eat fruits and vegetables for now."

Despite never hearing of this phenomenon before, Jaxs still believed his district partner. She wouldn't lie to him, he was sure of that. She trusted him, and he trusted her. _Allies were supposed to trust one another, so why would Lux be any different?_

Standing back up, Jaxs took another plate off the counter. This time, instead of filling it with junk, he piled it high with green vegetables. Kale, broccoli, spinach, artichoke—all the green he could find. Yet, when he sat down again and began to eat, he still couldn't help but spare envious glances over at Lux's plate of delicious junk food.

"So, you haven't told me how your private session went," Lux began to speak, her mouth still full of food.

Jaxs finished chewing his food before replying. "It was good, I think the gamemakers were pretty impressed with my knife throwing skills," he responded with a smile. Lux nodded her head, probably happy to hear that his session went well.

"Was that all you showed them?" She continued, funneling another piece of cake into her mouth as she spoke.

"Yeah, I thought that would be enough. You told me not do too many things because too high of a score would mean a big target on our backs. So I didn't show them anything else."

Lux chuckled, almost choking on the slice of cake in her mouth. Jaxs joined in, yet as soon as he began to laugh, she stopped chuckling and stared at him stone-faced.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clattering of forks and the loud chewing noises coming from Lux. "So, how was your session?" Jaxs questioned, breaking the still silence of the room only filled by his district partner's loud and annoying chewing.

"Good," was all Lux said.

"Well, what did you do?" Jaxs continued to ask, curious as to what she showed the gamemakers. Even though they had been training together for half a week, Jaxs was still in the dark about what his district partner's skills were. At training, she hadn't done anything except eat and watch Jaxs throw knives at a target for hours at a time.

"Nothing much, just showed off my skills," Lux replied vaguely, spooning another piece of cake into her mouth. It looked like he still wasn't going to find out what she brought to the table, aside from being the "brains" of the alliance.

Still, his curiosity was getting the best of him. "Like what skills?" Jaxs inquired.

Placing her fork down on her golden plate, Lux swallowed whatever food was in her mouth. "I think the training scores are being revealed in a few minutes. Let's go watch them," she suggested, changing the subject entirely. It was almost like she was hiding something from Jaxs, but he didn't quite know what.

"But I'm not done eating."

"You can finish later, let's go," she ordered, standing to her feet. Taking Jaxs' left hand, she pulled him up from his seat and lead him over to the television room. There, the large television was already on, the Hunger Games commentator blabbing about the significance of these year's games.

Taking a seat on the couch, Lux spread out her legs, hogging most of the sitting space. All Jaxs was left with was a small area barely able to fit his cat back at home, let alone his human-sized body. He decided to just sit on the floor, afraid that Lux would yap at him if he asked her to move just a little bit.

"So, without further ado, the training scores of these year's tributes!" The commentator announced excitedly, his orange face lighting up with delight.

A picture of Eris, the boy from District One, popped up on the screen. "Eris Valliano, with a score of—eight."

"Expected," Lux grumbled, rolling her eyes at the screen. Jaxs only nodded, it was common knowledge the career boy was already a major threat to everyone else in the arena.

Next, a picture of Kaeleah, the bubbly girl from One, lit up the screen. "Kaeleah Stonegate, with a score of—five."

"Unexpected," Lux commented, raising her eyebrow with interest. Jaxs too was surprised. Everyone expected she would be a threat in the arena, but her score nullified that.

Alaric, the boy from District Two was next. His picture was slightly eerie—causing a shiver to run up Jaxs' spine. "Alaric Pyre, with a score of—nine."

"Most definitely expected."

"Lena Evangelos, with a score of—eight."

"Expected."

Next was a picture of the conjoined twins from District Three. Jaxs found himself flinching at the strange sight of them, and instantly regretted it. "Gadget and Gizmo McGhee, each with a score of four."

Immediately after was a picture of the girl from Three, who everyone said looked like a mouse. Jaxs couldn't help but agree, even in this picture—her face plastered with makeup—she still looked very mouse-like. "Sereina Ampere, with a score of—seven."

Jaxs heard Lux gasp from behind him. "She got a seven? How on earth did she manage to do that? Kiss a gamemaker?"

Snorting, Jaxs focused his attention back at the screen. "Albert Quarius, with a score of—seven."

He swore he heard an angry shout from the floor below him, but dismissed the thought quickly as the pretty girl from four appeared on the screen.

"Nerida Willows, with a score of—four."

A nervous knot began to form in his stomach. His name was next. _What if he did really poorly? What if Lux didn't like his score and kicked him out of the alliance?_ No—she wouldn't do that. They were allies, and were loyal to one another. He wouldn't kick her out if she got a bad score, and she wouldn't kick him out if he did the same. _Or would she?_ He had no more time to think, for his picture popped up on the screen, and his name was beginning to ring through his ears.

"Jaxs Williamson, with a score of—six."

He breathed an enormous sigh of relief. _Six was good, right?_ Behind him, Lux clapped and gave him a satisfied smile. "Nice, that's the perfect score. Not too high so you are a threat, but high enough to possibly attract some sponsors. Good job."

Next, Lux's picture popped up on the screen. Behind him, Jaxs heard Lux hold her breath, just as he had done moments earlier. She might not let him think she was nervous, but he knew she secretly was. "Lux Ward, with a score of—"

Jaxs breathed in, anxious to finally see a glimpse into his district partner's skills. Lux breathed out, a sly smile creeping onto her face—a smile that Jaxs was too oblivious to see.

"Three."

 _A three? His district partner who always talked so highly about herself, only scored a three? She spoke about herself as if she was the greatest thing since sliced bread and she only managed to score a measly three? The lowest score so far! Had she been lying to him the whole time? Had she not wanted to share her skills because she didn't want him to know that she didn't have any? Was she a fraud?_

"I know what you might be thinking," Lux murmured, glancing down at Jaxs with calm eyes. "She must have no skills and was lying to me the whole time, right?"

Jaxs nodded his head, surprised with how accurately she had read his mind.

"Well, I scored a three on purpose. See, the thing is—I knew you would score well. And if you, Cinder and I all score well, our alliance would have a target on our back so big you could see it from outerspace. The careers would go after us in a flash. But if I score poorly, they'll think we are weak and leave us alone. You get where I'm coming from?"

That made sense. Jaxs instantly felt guilty for doubting his district partner and thinking that she was possibly a fraud. She really only had his best interests in mind, and her plan was very well thought out. "Yeah, I get where you are coming from. You are so smart Lux, you know that? I didn't even think of the target that would be on our back if you actually tried."

Smiling, Lux turned back towards the television. "I call myself the brains of the alliance for a reason," she chuckled, reclining back on the couch. Jaxs turned back towards the television, feeling relieved he had someone in the games who was watching out for him like that.

Next up was the boy from District Six. "Raleigh Travers, with a score of—six."

Lux went back to doing her expected and unexpected thing. She gave Raleigh an expected.

"Tesserae Bird, with a score of—two."

"Unexpected!" Tesserae exclaimed, her face filling with surprise. "I didn't know someone could do that bad!"

Jaxs laughed, imagining what she did to earn that score. Was she trying to use a knife and cut herself? Or did she try to make a fire and fail miserably? Or maybe she just stood there and did nothing? Either way, she must have really messed up.

The dark-skinned boy from Seven was next. "Tristan Juniper, with a score of—five."

"Expected."

Then the somewhat pretty girl from the same district. "Celeste Agreste, with a score of—five."

"Expected."

"Merino Jones, with a score of three."

"Expected, this is getting boring!" Lux exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I want some action, something different! I want to see something I've never seen before."

The pale face of the girl from Eight filled the screen, her frown and icy gaze sending another chill up Jaxs' spine. "Grace Peterson, with a score of—"

There was a long pause before the commentator continued. "Ten!"

A gasp escaped Jaxs' mouth, followed by an equally stunned one from Lux. "Unexpected," she murmured, awestruck. No one before had ever received a ten. _What did she do to earn that score?_

Another frowning face lit up the screen. It belonged to the boy from District Nine. "Draven Sinveil, with a score of—nine."

Another unexpected from Lux. It was as if someone had heard her say the scores were getting too boring and answered her prayer.

"Abrielle Mariani, with a score of—five."

"That's more like it."

The long face of the boy from Ten was next on the screen. He was smiling widely—looking like he was strangely happy to be entering a contest to the death in two days. "Chance Marrow, with a score of—six."

"Expected."

The girl from Ten also had the same toothy smile. "Marena Combe, with a score of—six."

"They're strong. Expected."

"Basil Anderson, with a score of four."

Aaannndd another expected.

"Velicity Peach, with a score of—five."

"Expected."

Next appeared the face of their ally, Cinder. He too was smiling—thought it wasn't as big of one as the tributes from Ten were sporting. "Cinder Newport, with a score of—four."

Lux nodded her head, not bothering to say expected. Cinder had told them he was going to shoot his bow—which Jaxs knew he was okay with at best. Lux probably guessed he would score a four or five, depending on how lucky he was that day.

"And finally, Arilli Carr—with a score of—five."

The screen flickered back to the orange face of the commentator, who began to once again to talk about how significant this year's Hunger Games were—it being the tenth one and all. Lux grabbed the television remote, turning off the TV. The screen went black, and for a second, the world was silent.

"I think we have a shot," she announced.

He hoped so too.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Heh, the biweekly/triweekly thing will probably go into effect next week, I'm trying to get one more chapter out by the end of the weekend. Also, we are so close to the games! Only three more chapters until the games begin. Super hyped!**

 **Questions: Keeping with the theme of the chapter, any scores that were expected? Unexpected? What did Grace do to receive the 10, and what did Tesserae do to receive the 2? Remember, these are only the 10th games, so a score of an 11 is still unheard of, and the best anyone has ever gotten is a nine. Your personal in the comments scores were awesome to see by the way!**

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	27. Interview Prep: The Color of Revenge

_Interview Preparations: The Color of Revenge_

* * *

 _Tristan Juniper, 12, District Seven Male._

He reclined back on the soft couch, his body slowly being enveloped into a material so fluffy he could have sworn he was sitting on a marshmallow. Adjacent to him, Celeste stood—her feet shifting nervously under her. He tried to meet her wandering gaze, hoping to give her a reassuring glance that would tell her it was all going to be alright. _It was, wasn't it?_

Yes, it had to be.

He'd walk out of the games alive, go home to his family and see his sister Millie again. They'd live in a nice big house in the Victor's Village with their parents and go on runs every morning to Apple Rock—and then in the evenings they'd sit out on the front porch and catch sparkling fireflies in glass jars just like they used to when they were younger. It would be just like all the fairy-tales his mother used to read to him. Everything was going to be alright, and the hero would get his happy ending.

 _After all, what book did he ever read where the hero died?_

"Are you two excited?" Rang the high-pitched voice of his mentor, Daffodil Hendrix. She strode into the room, her long blonde hair flowing wildly behind her back. A large grin was plastered on her clear-skinned face.

"Of course!" Tristan replied happily, nodding his head up and down as quickly as he could manage. The young boy didn't even know what he was supposed to be excited about—the games weren't all that thrilling in his opinion—but if his mentor was happy about it, he was going to be too. Being sad was just a waste of energy, and he found it much easier to just be joyful.

His mentor's smile only grew. "Excellent! And how about you Celeste?"

"I guess?" She murmured, sounding a bit unsure of herself. "I mean—I don't know if the possibility of dying is exactly thrilling—but you do you Daffodil."

Rolling her eyes, his mentor turned back to him. "I see throwing a spear wasn't the only thing someone learned during training," she retorted with an exaugurated huff. "Now, on a more serious note, we must talk about the upcoming interviews!"

Letting out an excited squeal, Daffodil clapped her hands together. "I can barely control my excitement for you both right now! Oh, how fond I am of my first interview! Don't you just love all those flashing lights in your eyes? The sweat dripping across your face as the hot lights beat down on you? The nervous butterflies you get in your chest as Giovanni asks you a question?"

Tristan laughed, nodding his head rapidly. The way Daffodil was describing the interviews made them sound so exhilarating. He began to bounce up and down in his chair, hardly able to contain his own excitement now.

Celeste on the other hand didn't look as thrilled. Her feet were shuffling even faster now, her lips uttering unreadable words Tristan couldn't quite make out over Daffodil's loud chattering.

"This will be an important time to gain possible sponsors, and in order to do that, you both need to be adored by the Capitolites—just like I am. And since you aren't naturally as likable as me, you need to have interview angles."

"What's an interview angle?" Tristan asked, blinking his dark brown eyes at his mentor.

"It's like acting. I'll give you a role to play, and you play it," his mentor responded with a wide grin,

"Is it like playing pretend?" Tristan asked, a small smile creeping onto his face. Back when Millie and him were younger—about six and seven, respectively—they used to play a game where they pretended to be people they were not. Millie always liked to pretend she was the queen on the forest—and Tristan was always her loyal servant. Sometimes he wanted to be king—but he knew Millie liked to be the queen—so he always let her. Someday, maybe in their new house in the Victor's Village, they could be king and queen together.

Daffodil nodded her head. "Precisely. Now, Celeste," she called, turning towards his still mumbling district partner. "I want you to act flirtatious, especially with Giovanni. Flirt with him as much as possible."

"But I don't know how to flirt very well," Celeste interjected, her tone again unsure.

"Sweetheart, all girls know how to flirt," Daffodil replied plainly. Nodding her head slowly, Celeste pulled her gaze away from her feet and began to look about the room nervously. For a split second, Tristan's eyes met her's, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop.

Then she pulled away, gazing back at her feet aimlessly.

The next time she looked his way, Tristan managed to give her a reassuring grin. She returned it, weakly.

Glancing back at Daffodol, Celeste seemed to look a bit more composed. "Alright, I can do it," she replied with a bit more confidence. "It'll be easy, right Celeste? Two minutes then you're done. The Capitol will love it and you'll get sponsors. You can do it. You c—"

"Oh, and don't talk to yourself during the interviews. It looks horrendous."

With that last comment, Celeste's short spurt of confidence disappeared as soon as it had come. Tristan tried to meet her gaze once more and tell her everything would be alright, but he couldn't find it again. She was lost. Her dark blue eyes as murky as the ocean; her hands trembling like an earthquake.

"Now Tristan," his mentor turned, giving him another ginormous smile. "I want you to act like you just won a million dollars. You need to be elated and full of energy. You got that?"

Nodding his head up and down rapidly, he gave his mentor an equally giant smile. "Will do!" He chimed, excited that he got to play pretend again just like he did with his sister all those years ago. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could pretend she was sitting right next to him.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could pretend he was back at home, wind in his face as they raced together through the woods.

Maybe he could pretend that he would someday see those woods again.

Maybe he could keep on pretending he actually had a chance.

Maybe he could make it out alive.

Or maybe it would be best if he stopped pretending that everything was going to be okay, because everything wasn't going to be.

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District One Male._

"All done," his stylist cooed, tightening his bejeweled tie around his neck. In the bright light of the stylist's room, the gems sparkled brighter than a million suns. Out on the stage, they'd shine even better.

Moving towards a large mirror on the other side of the room, Eris saw his reflection for the first time that day. His golden blonde hair was slicked back with pounds of hairspray and his face was covered in blush to make him seem less pale. He was dressed in a flashy golden suit with a tie made of a million different jewels all probably worth more than his grandmother's entire house back in One. Emeralds, rubies, amethysts. Everything. All so shiny, so attention grabbing.

He hated it.

Eris had never been a boy who craved the spotlight. Attention for what one was wearing seemed silly to him—trivial almost. Many in One thought the opposite, they loved when people turned their heads in awe at their expensive clothing or their diamond encrusted jewelry. Everyone in District One loved the attention—or rather—everyone in District One loved it except him. At home he didn't go out of his way to impress other people with his attire, he instead just wore whatever was clean and comfortable. His favorite grey shirt came to mind at the moment.

"I wish it was a little less flashy," Eris muttered, blinking his brown eyes a few times at his reflection. Normally they were an eye-catching feature of his, something passersby turned their heads to see. But today, they paled in comparison to the piece of fabric strung around his neck and the bright golden suit that encased his body.

His stylist chuckled, dismissing Eris' comment. "That's the point," he responded dryly. "Flashy equals people remembering you. People remembering you equal sponsors. Sponsors equal staying alive. I thought children from the districts were supposed to be grateful, but I see that's not the case."

Nostril's flaring, Eris took a deep breath in. Relax. He was normally pretty calm about things, but like anyone, Eris possessed a plethora of pet peeves. Strangers misjudging others was one of them. Eris was grateful for everything he had. The whole reason he volunteered was because he wanted to show everyone how grateful he was for them and their support. Don't lash out. Calmly, he replied, "Thank you for the kind consideration, but I think I'll be able to hold my own with or without sponsors. I just don't feel comfortable in this bright suit is all."

Rolling his eyes, his stylist turned away from him. "We all have to do things we aren't comfortable with. Get over yourself."

Within seconds, Eris found himself on the other side of the stylist's locked door, banging on it loudly. "Let me back in!" He roared, continuing to slam his fists against the door's golden exterior. But, after minutes of effort, Eris began to realize that his outfit wasn't going to be altered to cater to his wishes. Sighing, he stepped away from the door and right into the large body of the boy from Four.

Strong hands pushed him forwards, his body crashing up against the golden door. A low cracking noise emitted from his nose.

"Watch where you are going, landlubber!" The boy fumed.

Wiping his hand across the bottom of his nose, Eris noticed his hand was stained with a fresh coat of glittering crimson blood. Turning around, he had the urge to punch the boy right in the face. As his grandmother had said to him when he was just a boy, an eye for an eye, or in this case, a nose for a nose. Yet, he abstained. There would be enough time for nose punching during the games.

"Punching someone in the face isn't a very friendly introduction," Eris growled.

"Who said I was friendly?" The boy quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. He scanned Eris up and down, as if he were sizing him up. Height wise, the boys were about equal, both standing at over six feet. They also each possessed a considerable amount of muscle, but from what, Eris did not know. The boy had gotten a decent enough score in the private session that he could have trained prior to the games. Still, that was doubtful. No one trained except from the tributes from his district and Two.

Blood continued to stream out of his nose. Some dripped onto his glittering tuxedos. Red on gold; wet on dry. "Well, if you don't mind moving, I need to get by. This blood isn't going to dry itself," Eris replied calmly. Taking a step forwards, he tried to scoot past the boy. The boy didn't budge, his large body blocking Eris' path.

"Wait, I want to join your alliance," the boy professed.

Eris held back a snort. _How ridiculous was this boy? Almost breaking his nose then asking to join his elite alliance?_ Crazy.

"No," Eris replied simply, shaking his head back and forth in response.

The red-headed boy gawked. "Why not?"

"Because."

"Tell me why not!" He demanded, angrily stomping his foot down on the ground.

Eris tried to look for a way around the boy, but there was none. "Because you shoved me against the door and were mean to me. I think those are pretty good reasons. Now let me by."

"Not until you let me into your alliance!" He exclaimed, balling his hands up into fists. "I, the amazing Albert Quarius, son of the most fearsome and ruthless pirate to ever roam the seven seas, am the perfect choice for an addition to your alliance. I'm the strongest tribute in these moronic games! All you landlubbers are weak compared to me! I—"

"—Then why didn't you get the best training score?" Eris interrupted, narrowing his light brown eyes at the annoying boy.

"Because a moronic weight fell is why!" Albert screeched, his voice echoing down the long hallway littered with other mingling tributes. A few looked their way, but most didn't—too enveloped in their own issues to care.

"Can you just get out of my way?" Eris asked with a sigh.

"No! I got a better score then that pampered princess from your district and she's allowed in your alliance! Why aren't I?"

"I already told you why," Eris replied through gritted teeth, beginning to grow frustrated. _No meant no. This boy needed to learn when to bite his tongue and walk away while he still could._

"That's unfair!" Albert shrieked. "I got a better score, now let me in!"

"No," Eris growled, taking a step towards the boy. Then, with a hard shove, he pushed Albert to the floor. After he headed down the hallway, leaving the hot-headed tribute on the ground behind him.

Rounding the bend, Eris heard an angry voice yell after him. "You're going to pay for not letting me in your alliance! You will rue the day you rejected me, I'll make sure of it!"

Another drop of blood landed on his glittering suit. Red—the color of rage, of anger.

Red, the color of revenge.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District Twelve Male._

"Positions please! Only five minutes until showtime!" A blue haired woman exclaimed, clapping her hands together happily. The tributes begin to flock towards the corners of the stage, which were shrouded behind a pair of glittering gold curtains. A line began to form, the pretty blonde girl from One at the front. Others began to flock behind her, lining up by gender and district number. Cinder followed in their lead, taking his place at the rear of the line behind Arilli.

To his surprise, his district partner didn't say hello, or even bother to greet him. When he walked past her, her cloudy green eyes looked distant—as if her conscious mind was residing in another world far away from this one. Not wanting to disturb her, Cinder decided not to greet her. Instead, he stood silently in place and studied the back of her long green dress.

However, this distance between them was nothing new. Ever since training had ended, Cinder had sensed that something was wrong. Whenever Cinder tried to strike up a conversation with his friend, she always responded with one-word answers.

 _"You want to get a Popsicle with me downstairs?"_ He had asked her the night after their private sessions.

A friendly thing to say, something she would have probably said yes to when their friendship was first beginning to blossom. However, she only responded with a harsh no before retreating to her lonesome room. Cinder was left out in the hallway, wondering what had created this deep divide.

Yet, even now as he studied the back of her dress a day later, he couldn't put a finger on it. _Was he being too friendly? Not friendly enough? Too clingy? Too distant? Was his training score not high enough for her? Did he scare her away?_ A million questions, but not one answer to match.

"Cinder!" A voice exclaimed and interrupted his mindless thoughts. Cinder's ears perked, and he tilted his head outwards, trying to spot where the voice was coming from. To his surprise, his new ally Lux was smiling and waving to him from the middle of the line.

"Come here!" Lux called, motioning him over.

Cinder shook his head back and forth. "We aren't supposed to leave our spot in line."

Lux rolled her icy blue eyes. "Just come here, I need to tell you something that can't wait."

"But—"

"Just come on!" Lux exclaimed, interrupting Cinder's weak protest. "I absolutely _need_ to speak with you before the interview starts!"

Reluctantly, Cinder took a step out of line. His gut was telling him to stay where he was—if the blue haired lady saw him he'd surely get yelled at. But Lux absolutely _needed_ him, and Cinder was never one to ignore someone in a dire circumstance.

So, he found himself darting across the stage. Some tributes looked his way, yet most didn't. They were all too absorbed in themselves, nervous for the upcoming interview that could determine their fate in the games. Cinder zipped past them all, stopping right in front of Lux's captivating blue eyes and warm smile. Thankfully the blue haired woman wasn't paying attention, for he would have been sent right back to where he came from with a hasty chastising to accompany him on his way.

Lux yanked him closer with a tug. "Alright, so here's the deal. When you go up on stage, you are going to pretend like you hate the Capitol and everything about the games."

"But I don't hate the Capitol and everything about the games. Why would I lie like that?" Cinder asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. To him, this plan seemed like an awful idea.

Lux narrowed her eyes at Cinder. Her gaze was piercing, controlling almost. "I am your ally. I have your best intentions in mind. Just do as I say, okay?"

Cinder nodded his head reluctantly. "But—"

A strong hand yanked on his collar, pulling him away from Lux. He was turned around sharply, his gaze meeting that of the blue-haired woman. She did not look happy.

"Get back in line!" She screeched at him. Most of the tributes looked his way, a few giggling at him in the process. Most notably was the pair from Ten, who laughed louder then all.

Nodding his head rapidly, Cinder scurried back to his place in line faster than a mouse would run to a piece of cheese. Gulping, he filed back in behind Arilli.

Silence followed. The tributes from District Ten eventually shut their mouths, and the blue haired woman disappeared from sight. An excited murmur of chatter could be heard from the audience, but otherwise, no one made a sound.

Music began to play on stage. Wanting to wish his district partner good luck, he gave her a gentle tap on the shoulder.

Arilli stirred, turning towards Cinder. However, Cinder was surprised by what he saw. Her normal scar was covered with makeup, so much so that her face looked well—normal. It was as if her scar had never been there, her skin flawless and smooth. She looked almost unrecognizable. Cinder gawked, his jaw hanging open at the sight.

Arilli gave him a weak smile in return. Yet, her eyes told all. They were broken, hurt.

"I guess you did see a difference, huh?"

* * *

 **A/N: Hi everyone! I have gotten a handful of reviews and PMs asking if this story has been abandoned, and it has not. I decided it was just easier to post this chapter and this A/N as heads up that I won't be as active on here for the next coming months as I adjust to the new school year and activities that come with it. Turns out taking on more AP/honors classes than I could handle was a bad idea, surprise surprise. So, I'll be halting updates on Crimson until November 1st for the time being. I'll still respond to PMs somewhat timely if you'd like to chat though.**

 **I hope you all understand that life can be unpredictable and priorities can change.**

 **See you all in November!**

 **paper :)**


	28. Interviews: Highlights

_Interviews: Highlights_

* * *

"So Kaeleah, I'll ask the question we are all dying to know, why did you volunteer?" Giovanni, the announcer, inquired with a toothy smile.

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Kaeleah didn't know what to say. _Should_ _she tell them her father forced her into it? Or that she was going to die either way? Or does she lie and tell them that she did it for herself, for the glory that winning brings?_

"Giovanni, why would I give away my secrets?" She answered with a flirtatious smile and a giggle. "It's more fun if you have to figure them out yourself."

The crowd begun to chant Kaeleah's name. "Then I'm guessing you won't share how you only managed to snag a five in training?"

Kaeleah laughed again, and placed a delicate hand on the announcer's leg. "You're too smart. But I'll tell you this, there is more to me than meets the eye."

The crowd roared, and Kaeleah smiled. They have no idea that her saying holds true for more than just her training score. Little do they know that the flirtatious girl giggling in front of them only wants to scream until her lungs collapse and cry until her eyes are red with sorrow.

Everything is not what it seems. Kaeleah of all people knew that best.

* * *

"Let's welcome to the stage, all the way from District One, Eris Valliano!"

The crowd erupted in applause as a blonde boy with a sparkling golden suit appeared from behind the curtain. Yet, as he walked out into the light, something about the golden boy seemed off. Nothing major, barely visible to the naked eye. Yet the citizens of the capitol could spot a flaw from a mile away.

"Eris, what is that on your suit?" Giovanni asked, referencing the dried spots of crimson splattered on his suit.

Eris let out a sigh, slinking into the seat right next to Giovanni. "This?" He asked, pointing to the same red spots the interviewer had referenced moments before.

Giovanni nodded his head. "Yes. It looks a bit peculiar, doesn't it?"

The crowd all nodded their heads simultaneously.

Smirking, Eris glanced to Giovanni, then to the crowd of thousands. "Nothing that can't be resolved during the games," he replied plainly.

Gasping, Giovanni clapped a hand over his chest. "So, someone did this to you?" He inquired.

"Yes, I won't lie to you. It was the boy from Four."

"Albert?" The interviewer asked as the crowd in front of him began to murmur amongst themselves in shock.

"Yeah."

Giovanni paused, giving the crowd time to calm down. It was big news that a fight had broken out between two tributes before the games even began. After a few moments, the interviewer opened his mouth to speak again.

"With your eight in training, he definitely has something to fear during the games. I wouldn't want you as an enemy," Giovanni chuckled, giving Eris a friendly slap on the back.

"I wouldn't want me as an enemy either," Eris replied.

 _Ten feet away, Lena smirked. She loved having him as an enemy._

* * *

Lena wore a skintight black dress and dark makeup. Surprisingly, she liked it. It made her look fearsome, like a force to be reckoned with.

"We were all very moved when we saw you volunteer for your dead friend Quartz. Weren't we folks?" Giovanni asked the audience. They cheered loudly, whooping and chanting Lena's name.

However, Lena didn't return the favor. She only stared back at Giovanni, her eyes angry and resentful. "I don't care what you think. Quartz died in your stupid games, and I'm here to either avenge her, or join her. I didn't do this so you all could be moved by my valiant act. I did this for me, and me alone."

Holding his hands up in the air, Giovanni shrunk back in his chair. "Woah, woah. I didn't mean to offend you Lena, I—"

"Well, you offended me," Lena interjected with a frown.

Giovanni blinked slowly, not knowing what to say. Normally tributes responded respectfully to his comments, and never interrupted him. Finally, he replied. "Well, how about that eight in training? We are all wondering how you did it."

Lena's lips only curved into a larger frown. "I beheaded a bunch of dummies, that's what. And if you don't watch out, you may be next."

Giovanni laughed awkwardly, trying to make light of the situation.

Lena gave him a glare, shutting him up.

* * *

"So, Alaric, have you made any allies so far?" Giovanni questioned, folding his hands in his lap.

Alaric nodded plainly. "Well, Lena and I were going to be allies from the start, ever since the two of us were picked to enter the games a few months ago. Our mentors said it would be best."

Giovanni raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? Some rumors have been going around the Capitol that you have aligned with the trained tributes from District One to make a power alliance. Can you confirm if this is true?"

Pausing for a moment, Alaric opened his mouth to speak. "I can confirm those rumors to be true. Lena, Kaeleah, Eris and I have formed an alliance. We are the strongest tributes in the arena, and together, we will be even stronger. We feel that is it for the best."

Some of the crowd cheered, whiles others remained silent. Giovanni spoke again. "Well, not all of you are the strongest. Grace Peterson bested you all in training, with a mythic score of Ten. Have you invited her into the alliance?"

Alaric shook his head. "No, but we will keep a close eye on her during the arena. In order to be successful, she will need to be taken out as soon as possible."

Giovanni smiled. "Well, I wish you and your alliance the best of luck in the arena. Let's give it up for Alaric Pyre, everyone!"

* * *

"Wow, you look absolutely dazzling Sereina!" Giovanni exclaimed as the mousy girl shyly walked onto the stage.

However, she didn't feel as dazzling as she looked. Her knee length red dress sparkled under the bright lights of the stage, and her ruby red lipstick popped. She was the center of attention, a sparkling jewel put on display for the Capitol. But for a shy girl, all this attention was far too much. All she wanted to do was scamper back into a hole and hide.

"Uh—t—th—th—thanks," Sereina stuttered shyly, taking small steps towards Giovanni.

He smiled at her. "Don't be afraid, it's not like there are a million people watching!"

The crowd laughed at the irony of his statement. Sereina felt a chill run down her spine as she slunk back into the chair beside the interviewer. Sweat began to bead along her forehead.

"Are you liking the Capitol so far Sereina?" Giovanni asked once she sat down.

She nodded her head slowly. "Y-yeah. All the food has been really good so far, and the bed is so comfortable. It's like sleeping on a cloud."

Giovanni laughed. "Anything you don't like?"

Sereina shrugged. "All these interviews. A—as you can see, I'm not the best at talking to people."

"Well, we all have time to improve," Giovanni consoled, giving the small girl a little pat on the back.

 _She didn't. In two weeks, she'd be dead as a rock, lying lifeless on the ground. Right now, time was what she needed._

* * *

"Let's welcome to the stage, our fabulous and forever connected duo from District Three, Gadget and Gizmo McGhee!" Giovanni announced, clapping his hands together loudly.

Yet, he was the only one clapping. A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd, drowning out Giovanni's microphone and the faint sound music playing in the background.

Gadget and Gizmo McGhee, each sporting a simple tux and yellow bowtie, hobbled over to the chair beside Giovanni. Yet, when they went to sit down, they didn't fit. The chair had only been built for one, not two.

"Well, this is awkward," Giovanni murmured, though his voice couldn't be heard over the loud boos still flooding in from the audience.

Gadget's hands began to twitch, and his eyes darted around for something to fidget with. Yet, there was nothing in sight, so he had to make do with his fingers, twisting them around and around to attempt to calm himself down.

On the other hand, Gizmo looked mortified. His icy blue eyes were wide with fear as he stared blankly out in the vast sea of people all booing at him. _Why did they hate him so much? If the only thing he had done wrong was be born, wouldn't they want him to be dead?_

* * *

"Nerida, do you miss home?" Giovanni inquired, tilting his head to the side and blinking his eyes slowly.

Nodding her head slowly, Nerida brushed back a golden curl from her face. Her stylist had dressed her in a flowy baby blue dress that came down to her ankles. The bottom of the dress had white ruffles that reminded her of ocean waves as they crashed onto the warm sand.

"I miss the sea," Nerida sighed, her mind wandering back to a random day in her childhood. She was eight or nine, and was running across a golden stretch of sand on the beach. Seagulls flew high above, and the sky was as blue as the water was deep. The warm rays of the sun kissed her skin. It was a perfect day, a perfect day she'd never see again.

The crowd sighed dreamily. They all were either thinking of a perfect warm summer day just as Nerida was, or were thinking about how pretty she looked in a bikini. Either way, Nerida's comment had invoked a happy thought.

"For your sake, I hope you'll get to see the ocean someday again."

"I do too Giovanni. I do too."

Yet, she didn't believe her own words. She could only hope heaven had an ocean as vast and beautiful as the one found in District Four.

 _But after the games, who said she was still going to get to go to there?_

* * *

"Albert, is it true you punched Eris in the nose right before the interviews began?' Giovanni questioned, blinking his dark eyes at Albert.

Albert growled. "I told you to refer to me as Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate to ever roam the seven seas! When is anyone ever going to learn to address me by my full title?"

Most of the audience laughed, still thinking this whole "angry pirate" charade was still an act he was putting on the entertain them.

"Stop it!" Albert roared, his dark green eyes blazing with fury. "You won't be laughing once I win the games and kill you all!"

Giovanni placed a hand on Albert's shoulder, yet Albert shooed him away. A few people gasped, taking the threat rather seriously. "Calm down, calm down. Folks, he is just kidding. Right Albert?"

Albert leapt to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "Don't tell me if I'm kidding or not! Landlubbers can't tell me what to do! Only I tell myself what to do! I am the captain of my own ship! And you still didn't refer to me as my full title!"

"Okay, we're sorry," Giovanni apologized, but it was too late. Albert was already stomping away angrily, grumbling words unreadable to the audience. Yet, before he reached the edge of the stage, he turned back to face the interviewer.

"And yes," he replied snarkily. "I did shove that moronic landlubber into the door. That's what happens when you cross a pirate. You get to walk the plank."

* * *

"And now let's welcome to the stage, our brave volunteer from District Five, Lux Ward!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. From behind the curtains confidently strode Lux, wearing a floor length grey gown with long wire jewelry. She smiled and waved out into the sea of people. This only made the crowd go wilder, a few throwing roses up onto the stage.

"Lux! Lux!" They chanted her name gleefully.

Once Lux had made her way across the stage, she took a seat beside Giovanni. "A pleasure to see you Miss Ward," he greeted, giving her a kiss on the hand.

Lux gave a fake laugh. "The pleasure is all mine. I can't wait to see you all in two weeks for my victor's crowning ceremony!"

The crowd cheered again, and Lux gave them all another wave. _This was too easy. They were eating it all up._

Giovanni laughed before clearing his throat, his expression turning serious. "We all admire your confidence Lux, but with a training score of three, we all wonder where this confidence is spurring from."

Lux nodded her head, pretending to understand this concern. "I see where you're coming from. But Giovanni, I have a strategy that all you cannot understand yet. In time it will come to light, but for now, I must keep you in the dark about my plan for the games. But I assure you my confidence is not misplaced."

Giovanni nodded his head slowly and the crowd did the same. "Can you spare us a hint?" He prodded.

Lux chuckled. "If you really want to know, I guess I could," she paused, giving the crowd a chance to cheer. "But wouldn't it be better if I let you guess for yourselves?"

"No!" The crowd shouted.

Lux rolled her eyes playfully. "If you so insist. Brawn isn't the only thing that can win the games, Giovanni. There is more to me than meets the eye."

* * *

"So Jaxs, what do you think of the Capitol so far?"

Gulping, Jaxs' eyes darted towards the wing of the stage. Some of the audience looked confused, wondering why he was looking off in that direction. He nodded his head mutely before facing Giovanni once more, as if someone off in the wing had given him the courage to answer the question.

"I hate it," he blurted out, though sounded a bit unsure of himself. "It's awful here. Uh—the food is uh—terrible. It all tastes like rotten eggs," he looked back into the wing once again before continuing. "Also, all the people here are so weird. Everyone looks so ugly, I mean—like why would anyone dye their hair blue? And all those long eyelashes are disgusting. Th—"

Jaxs wasn't able to finish, for the boos from the audience began to drown his voice out. After a minute or so they died down enough for Giovanni to ask another question.

"I suppose Capitol life isn't for everyone. Is there anything in particular that made you feel this way?" The interviewer asked.

Jaxs shook his head back and forth. "Nope. I just hate it all."

More boos followed. Jaxs gulped, glancing back towards the wing where Lux was standing. She flashed him a smile, giving him a big thumbs up. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder why Lux had made him do this. _Was she purposely telling him to do stuff like this so he would look bad?_ No, she wouldn't. _She wouldn't, right?_

* * *

"Tesserae, do you have anything you'd like to say to the people back home before you're done?"

Tesserae shook her head slowly, her big brown eyes staring right into the camera. Then, she blinked and looked back at Giovanni. "Well, I don't have anyone back at home to say goodbye to. My mother died a long time ago, and my dad—well—I don't know where he is."

A few people in the audience nodded their heads in sympathy, yet none of them could ever feel what she was feeling. None of them ever knew what it was like to have their own mother thrown from their own home and executed right before their eyes; none of them knew what it was like to not eat for days. They would never understand, no matter how hard they tried.

"Any friends then? Any distant relatives?"

She breathed in slowly and placed her hands in her lap. "I may not make it out alive," she began softly. "But that doesn't mean my death won't make a difference. By going into these games, I saved the life of someone else. I took their place, and I am glad of that. Someone will get to live because I died. I regret nothing, except for the fact I wasn't able to save more people."

The audience politely clapped, and Tesserae stood to her feet. Her light blue dress made her bright red hair pop, and she gave everyone a large smile. Then, Giovanni kissed her hand and she was whisked off the stage.

* * *

"A handsome boy like you must have some admirers back at home, no?"

Raleigh blushed, a stark contrast to his cerulean blue dress shirt and navy-blue kakis his stylist had made him wear. "You would have thought!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. "I guess the girls don't like guys who still ride their bikes everywhere."

The audience and Giovanni laughed simultaneously. "Well maybe if you win you can buy yourself a nice shiny car and get all the girls."

Raleigh sighed, shaking his head back and forth. "If only it was that simple. A fancy car isn't enough for girls. They need shiny jewelry and plenty of gifts. Oh, and don't forget your constant attention! If you even look away for a second, they'll go crazy!"

The audience erupted in a roar of laughter, and Raleigh joined in. _It was working, they liked him._

"So, do you think you have what it takes to win?"

Raleigh nodded his head up and down. "Look, I can't be sure. My odds aren't exactly, well—amazing. 1/24? Would you bet on that?"

Most of the audience shook their heads back and forth. Raleigh laughed.

"Well, that's the difference between you and me. Unlike you all, I'd bet on myself. Yes, it's risky, but only risk takers win."

* * *

Celeste felt powerful behind her face of makeup and green gown covered in twisting vines and ivy leaves. Still, she couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness. As she walked onto the stage, the words of her mentor rung again and again through her mind. _Act flirty. Don't talk to yourself. Act flirty. Don't talk to yourself._

Giovanni helped her to her seat. Once she was sitting, she took a deep breath in. _Five minutes. It's only five minutes. You can do this for five minutes._

"So, Miss Agreste, how are you holding up in the Capitol?"

"it's been good to me so far," Celeste replied with a smile. "The food here is all amazing, and everyone here is so nice. Even the other tributes."

The audience laughed. _She was being too funny. Shoot. She needed to be flirtier_. Deep breath in, deep breath out. _You got this._

"I'm guessing they won't be as nice once the games begin," the interviewer chuckled. She giggled, placing a hand over her mouth as she did so. _Was that being flirty?_

"Maybe I can make them be friendly, if you know what I mean," Celeste replied with a wink. The crowd laughed again, and Celeste let out a sigh of relief. _That was a good sign, right?_

Giovanni played dumb. "Actually, I don't know what you mean. Could you tell us?"

"Well—" Celeste began, but paused midsentence. "Shoot, what was I going to say again? Stupid Celeste, always messing up," she mumbled.

Instantly, she had realized her thoughts had become words. She quickly clasped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The microphones had already picked up her reply, and the audience was bubbling with laughter. Not laughing _with_ her, but _at_ her.

 _Why do you always have to screw everything up Celeste?_

* * *

"The games must be pretty scary for a kid like you Tristan. You're young, only twelve. Are you nervous?"

Tristan shook his head back and forth with confidence. "Nope! I just see the games as one big adventure. I get to meet awesome new people, explore a new place, eat good food, then go home and see my family again!"

Smiling, Tristan was practically bouncing out of his chair. The way he was describing the games made them sound like fun. It was like a vacation. Well, a vacation where he'd never get to go home.

"Who are you excited to see once you get home?" Giovanni asked, not pointing out the fact that Tristan most likely wouldn't get to return back to his home in District Seven.

"My sister," Tristan replied happily. "When I get home we're going to move to a big house in the victor's village and play games every day."

Some of the audience pretended to wipe their eyes with handkerchiefs. It was as if they felt bad that he didn't know what he was getting into. But he did. The games were making him grow up, and he could only hold onto his childhood for so much longer before he either died or killed to survive.

* * *

"Now that you've earned a ten, the highest score ever recorded in Hunger Games history, what is your strategy for the games?" Giovanni questioned, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Grace frowned at the interviewer, then back out at the crowd of million watching. "Not to kill anyone," she replied simply, her tone undeviating.

Everyone laughed. "But how are you planning to win without killing anybody?" Giovanni asked, slightly stunned by her response.

Grace smirked slyly. "Despite what everyone thinks, winning the Hunger Games isn't all about surviving. It's more than just that. It's about not changing to become a pawn in someone else's games. Ever since my father died in the war you started, I vowed to heal others, not hurt others. That's not going to change. You won't break me. I'd rather die nobly then live and lose a part of myself."

"So you aren't planning to try to make it out alive?"

"No," Grace responded bitterly. "I'm going to die the way I came in, nobody can change that."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Hopefully you will have a change of heart," Giovanni replied, his tone solemn.

"Trust me, I won't," Grace hissed before standing and walking away, leaving Giovanni and millions of others speechless in her tracks.

* * *

"I see you have beefed up a little bit," Giovanni joked, giving Merino a gentle poke in the ribs.

"Yeah," Merino replied quickly. His dark eyes didn't dare move from the ground where his feet were nervously shuffling. He had never felt comfortable talking to adults—mainly because he didn't trust them. But here, in front of a camera where all his responses were being recorded, he felt even more nervous.

"Are you finding the capitol food appealing?"

"Yeah," he replied nervously again, his head still not lifting.

"What's been your favorite food while you've been here? You can choose more than one, I know I couldn't even narrow it down to five!"

Merino shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I don't know, everything's been good."

"What's been your _favorite_ though?"

"I don't know," Merino repeated, not wanting to say much else. He would have given the world to run off the stage at that minute, but once the games began, there would be enough time for running. It took all he had to sit still and answer all of Giovanni's stupid questions.

It felt like an eternity until Giovanni uttered the fateful words. "Let's give it up for Merino Jones!"

He had never run faster in his life then he did when he scampered off the stage that very moment.

* * *

"So, Abrielle, is there a special someone who is waiting for you back at home?"

Abrielle's cheeks turned as rosy as the red sky at morning. "Well, there is _someone_ , but I doubt he even notices me."

"Well, I'm sure he notices you right now. He's probably watching you at this very moment, thinking about how pretty you look in that pastel yellow dress and tall heels."

Abrielle sighed dreamily, thinking of her crush Brandin. It felt like truly another lifetime ago that they were sitting in his room, painting by the daylight streaming in through his windows. "I hope he is too."

"Do you have anything to say to him before you go into the games?" Giovanni questioned.

Abrielle nodded her head slowly. "Well, there is one thing. I want to say goodbye, and tell you how great of a friend you were to me. We were together through the best, and the worst, and I just want to say how thankful I am to have known you."

The audience all exhaled a loud awwhhhhh. Abrielle smiled weakly, glad to finally have that off her chest.

"Whoever this mystery boy is Abrielle, he most certainly wants you to come home. Maybe if you make your way home you'll be able to be more than just friends."

Maybe.

* * *

He hated the bright lights glaring in his dark eyes; he despised the fact that he actually had to talk to someone. For the entirety of the pregames, Draven had avoided conversation with all his fellow tributes, mentors, stylists, and Capitoltes. The only one who had been impulsive enough to approach him was his weak district partner Abrielle, but after a few minutes, she left too.

Like his uncle.

Like his mother.

Like his father.

Like everyone he ever cared about, ever.

Perhaps that was why he hated people. Once he got close enough to trust someone, they would run away and leave him with nothing but glittering tears in his dark eyes.

"Draven, you look so handsome!" Giovanni exclaimed. Draven did not respond. He only slunk down into the comfy seat, avoiding everyone's curious gaze.

 _Who is this mysterious boy?_ They all wondered. _How did he get such a high score in training? Does he have any allies? What's his plan for the games? Is there someone back home he's fighting for?_

Too bad they'd never get to know, for Draven would rather die than give away his secrets. But then again, maybe it was best they didn't know the boy sitting in front of them was already a murderer, and the only person he had left in his dreary life was himself.

* * *

"Marena, what's your strategy going into the games?" Giovanni questioned, curiously blinking his eyes at her.

Smirking, Marena gave him a playful glance. "What is this thing you refer to as _strategy?_ I'm sorry Giovanni, but _strategy_ is not a word in my simple farm girl vocabulary."

The audience broke out into a fit of laughter, and she gave them all a wild smile. Before the interview, Chance had told her she had a great sense of humor, and maybe to try some out on the Capitol. _It was working; Chance was a genius. Maybe they would get sponsors after all._

"Well Marena, strategy is defined as a plan of action or policy designed to achieve a major or overall aim. Ever heard of it?"

Marena nodded her head. "Oh yeah, _that_. I've heard of it once or twice around the block, sure."

"Do you have a strategy then?"

Smiling, she responded. "Maybe, but what if my strategy was to not tell you my strategy?"

"Then I would say you ruined your strategy of not telling us that your strategy was not to tell us your strategy!" Giovanni quipped.

Marena contorted her face into a puzzled look. "Wait, I'm confused. What's strategy again?"

The audience burst out in laughter, and Marena couldn't help but smile again.

* * *

"Chance, you seem like a guy with a secret or two. Have any you want to get off your chest before you go into the games?"

Chance's face turned a pale white. _Shit, they knew. They knew his secret, the one that he had desperately tried to keep hidden for the past four years. They knew he was gay. They knew. It was his worst nightmare, a bigger fear of his then death itself. Exposure._

"Nope, no secrets. I'm just your friendly farmhand from Ten is all," Chance responded a little bit too quickly.

Giovanni raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You look like you have something to share, perhaps a secret that's been bugging you for ages?"

He shook his head no. _They knew. They knew._

"Is there someone you have a crush on back in at home? Or maybe a tribute you didn't get along so well with? Or—"

"Nope, no secrets!" Chance exclaimed, cutting the interviewer off. Then, he gave the crowd a very toothy smile, yet even that didn't quell their desire to pick his brain and find out all he knew. They yearned for all the gossip, all the secrets, all the lies. They wanted something to grace the front cover of their magazines, or something to whisper about in beauty salons.

"Come on! Just one thing!" Giovanni probed.

Then, the lies began to spill out. First about a secret crush he had on this girl in his arithmetic class back home, then about all the times they would sneak out in the middle of the night to make out under the stars.

He'd say anything to make them believe he wasn't gay. But now that he was probably going to die in the next few days, he couldn't help wondering what he was fearing, and why he was so scared.

* * *

"Velicity, you look amazing! Could you maybe do a little spin for us in that gorgeous dress of yours?"

Blinking her eyes, Velicity could barely see. The stage slights blazed brighter than the midday sun on a hot day in summer, and she couldn't even see two feet in front of her. Her bright orange heels were probably four or five inches high, and she was afraid she'd fall flat on her face if she tried to turn around.

Nervously, she began to twirl slowly. Her dress actually was gorgeous, she'd at least admit that. It was a sunset orange hue, and was floor length. It swayed lightly as she stepped out on stage and walked towards Giovanni. In the bright light of the stage, it sparkled and glittered like a shimmering lake at sunset.

The audience began to clap, and Velicity heard her mother's voice ring in her ears. She winced.

 _"Stop it Velicity!"_ It scolded. _"Why are you doing as they say? The Capitolites are evil, you shouldn't be doing this for their entertainment! They killed us Velicity, and they are going to kill you! Stop it!"_

Velicity closed her eyes, trying to focus on spinning. Her mother's voice eventually faded away into the cheers on the crowd.

The games hadn't even started, and her demons were already haunting her.

* * *

"Basil, you just turned twelve a few weeks ago, making you the youngest tribute in these games. Do you feel like you have a chance against other tributes who are much older then you?"

He nodded his head quickly. "Of course!" Basil exclaimed with a smile. "I don't think age makes a difference, and it's all about what skills you have and what alliances you make. So yes, I definitely have a chance!"

Giovanni gave him a pat on the back. "I admire your optimism Basil. So, if you were to win, what would you do with all your prize money?"

Basil giggled, fixing his black bowtie that was fastened around his neck. He had on a cheery yellow vest that made him look slightly like a lemon, and wore black slacks to match his dark bowtie.

"I'd buy all the oranges I could! Did you know even though we pick oranges in Eleven, we aren't allowed to eat any? But for my tenth birthday, my parents bought me one, and it was so good! I'd totally buy more if I could, and I'd buy some for all my family and friends too!"

"How generous! Another winning quality! It looks like we might have a contender on our hands!" Giovanni exclaimed, his pearly white teeth shining in the bright light.

Basil smiled. _Maybe he did have a chance._

* * *

Arilli trembled. She had never spoken in front of this many people since well—ever. She loved the dark, as it hid her from everyone and everything. But in the bright lights of the stage, everyone could see her. Every part of her. She was completely exposed, and completely terrified.

She sat stiffly in the chair, waiting anxiously as Giovanni greeted her by giving her a kiss on the hand.

"Arilli, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you!"

Nodding briskly, she quickly retracted her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. "Likewise," she murmured softly.

Giovanni gave her a toothy smile. "Are you normally this shy back at home?"

She shrugged and she looked down at her sweaty palms. "I guess you could say that. I don't really talk to many people back in Twelve."

"Really?" He asked, furrowing his brow. "But a pretty girl like you must have some friends, or even some secret admirers?"

 _Pretty? Had he even taken one look at her face? He must be taunting her, no one had ever referred to her as pretty, not even her own parents._ Arilli felt a rush of anger and humiliation pass through her body.

"No, I don't have any friends or admirers," she replied harshly. "Everyone takes one look at my face and runs away in fright. They think I'm some monster; they see me as a demon from hell."

Giovanni's smile began to fade. "Well, maybe it's the lighting, but I can't see a difference!"

She frowned, and brought the sleeve of her dress to her face. Then, with one wipe, she smeared the heavy makeup coating her scar. Some of the audience gasped, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Giovanni wince.

"I told you, everyone sees a difference."

She looked to the wing of the stage, trying to find her old ally through the bright light. For a second, Cinder and her made eye contact. But then it was lost, gone as quick as their friendship.

* * *

Arilli was mad, there was no denying that. She had just given him a glare so piercing he it could have killed him. _But why? What had he done wrong?_

Cinder sighed, pushing the thought out of his mind. He could worry about that later, but right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. _What was he going to do about his interview?_

Lux told him during his interview he was supposed to act like he hated the capitol and everything about it; however, his gut was telling him not to do it. It seemed like an awful idea that would only get him killed faster. It certainly wouldn't attract sponsors like Lux said it would.

"Thank you Arilli!" Giovanni exclaimed, and the capitol anthem began to play. Cinder gulped. It was time to make the decision. _Should he betray his ally and do what he thought was right, or go along with her suggestion to make her happy but lie and worsen his chances of survival in the process?_

Arilli walked off the stage and passed by him. He tried to meet her gaze but she didn't look up from the floor.

"Let's welcome to the stage, last but not least, Cinder Newport!"

It was time.

Cinder took a step out into the bright light of the stage. For a moment, he was frozen in shock, conflicted about what to do.

Then, he gave the crowd a giant smile with his yellow teeth. He couldn't bring himself to lie, he just couldn't. It went against everything he ever stood for.

 _It looks like he had made his decision. Hopefully Lux wouldn't be too mad._

* * *

 ** _A/N: And I'm back! A day earlier then I said, but I finished this chapter early and was jus so anxious to get this chapter out! I know these interviews were a bit short, ranging in length from 200-300 words, but I wanted to get everyone one last POV before the games began. And speaking of the games, only one more chapter to go until the bloodbath! So hyped!_**

 _ **I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with this story, and know that updates will be pretty frequent now until the new year begins. I'm no longer playing a sport after school anymore, so I should have more time to write when I get home.**_

 _ **paper :)**_


	29. Night Before and Launch: Crimson

_Night Before & Launch: Crimson_

* * *

 _Marena Combe, 17, District 10 Female._

It hadn't really hit her until now. Tomorrow, they'd be going into the games. People would die brutal and gruesome deaths at the hands of other children, some younger then themselves. Others would starve and some would die of dehydration. One would make it out. _Would it be her?_

Chance and her sat in the parlor of their penthouse. The digital clock on the wall read 11:53, seven minutes until midnight. The interviews had ended about an hour ago, and Marena had yet to take off her tight leather dress and heavy makeup. Chance was still in his brown leather suit; his eyes fluttered open and closed in exhaustion.

They should probably be asleep. Tomorrow was the biggest day of their short lives—the beginning of the end, or perhaps, the end. _Would she live? Would she die? Would she kill to survive?_

Chance was probably thinking the same thing. Normally, the two would be chattering away about something they thought was funny—perhaps a weird looking Capitolite they saw that day or a joke that one of them had made earlier. Yet, neither spoke; neither breathed.

Marena stood to her feet abruptly, causing Chance to turn his head. "I'm done thinking about tomorrow," she announced. "I just want to live for tonight."

Even in the dark, Marena could see Chance smirk. "I have an idea," he declared, standing to his feet and making his way out of the room.

Marena followed him through the dark hallway. Finally, Chance swung open the door to the kitchen and went inside. Marena trailed close behind him, still not knowing where he was headed.

Then, he swung open a cabinet filled with dozens of glass bottles. "Liquor," he smirked. "A way to live for tonight, and forget about tomorrow."

 _Perfect._ Marena grabbed a clear glass bottle filled with a colorless liquid without even a second thought. She was never one to think about the future; she never had a strategy. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea, but she didn't care. As long as it made her live for what possibly could be the last night of her life, she'd be satisfied.

Two bottles in hand, the pair made their way out onto the porch. The night was cool; the wind was chilly and nipped at Marena's bare shoulders. However, she didn't care. The liquor would rid her of the cold, of her nervousness, of all her feelings.

It would make her live. Live like she did back in ten when she rode the angry bull; live like she did when she didn't have a worry in the world except whether or not her mother was making soup or pasta for dinner.

"You ready?" Chance asked, unscrewing the cap from his bottle. Marena nodded, doing the same.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Marena replied with a grin.

They counted down from three. _Three._ She lifted the rim of the bottle to her lips. _Two._ She tilted the bottle upwards. _One._ She looked and Chance, and let the bitter liquid slide down her throat.

"Gross!" She yelped after swallowing. Whatever was left in her mouth she spit out onto Chance's leather tux, coating him in a layer of spit and gin. He staggered backwards, spitting out whatever alcohol was in his mouth too. This time, Marena was sprayed with a thin mist of saliva.

Chance burst out into a fit of laughter. Marena followed, and soon enough, the two were laughing like there was no tomorrow.

"Alcohol is disgusting!" Chance exclaimed in between bursts of laughter. "My parents drink it on occasion to relax, I thought it would help us!"

Marena smiled, glancing at Chance then back to her spit coated dress. "It did, can't you see? We're laughing!"

Chance nodded his head, relaxing that even though very little alcohol had been ingested, the two had still forgotten that tomorrow, they'd be playing in a game where the prize was their life. It had done the trick.

"Want to try again?" Chance inquired, motioning towards the bottle in his hand.

Marena threw her hands up into the air. "Absolutely not! I'd rather get decapitated by a career and thrown into a pile of blood than drink that again!"

"Then it's settled. You're getting decapitated by a career and thrown into a pile of blood. I'll make sure of it," Chance teased.

Rolling her eyes, Marena placed the bottle of gin down on the floor of the balcony. "What a good ally," she retorted sarcastically.

"I try," Chance quipped.

The two stood out on the balcony for a few minutes in silence, listening to the sound of the wind howling across the buildings. Thoughts began to creep back into Marena's mind about the games.

"Hey, what are the odds I'd chug the bottle of gin right now?" Marena questioned, glancing back down at the bottle of gin resting on the balcony floor.

Chance chuckled. "You really want to do this?"

She shrugged. "Anything to make me not think about the games."

"Alright. Odds out of 100?" He asked.

Marena nodded. "Sure. Odds out of 100, on the count of three."

"One,"

"Two,"

"Three,"

"Zero!" They chimed in unison.

Twisting her face into a disgusting grimace, Marena glanced down at the glass bottle. "Damn, I didn't think you would guess it," she grumbled, yet picked up the bottle all the same.

Shutting her eyes tight, Marena began to down all the liquid in the bottle. First, she was chugging quickly, but as time passed, the liquid was disappearing slower and slower. Halfway through the bottle, she stopped, gasping desperately for air.

Chance laughed. "A real daredevil I see."

"You mean a real s _tupid_ daredevil," she replied before coughing some of the clear liquid up. "Oh, why did I do that? My stomach feels like it's on fire!"

Rolling his eyes, Chance picked up his bottle of alcohol and began to chug. About a fourth of a way through the bottle, he stopped and began coughing violently.

"At least we're stupid daredevils together," he chortled after his coughing ceased. Marena couldn't help but laugh, completely forgetting that in a few days, they'd both probably be dead.

But for now, they were living like there was no tomorrow. The clock inside clicked to 12:08, meaning it was officially the day of the games. So perhaps for them, tomorrow wouldn't exist.

* * *

 _Abrielle Mariani, 15, District 9 Female._

She still woke before six, like she had done when she was living on the farm. There was really no need—she didn't need to be at breakfast until 9:00, but some habits were hard to break.

Rising from her bed, she shook the covers off of her body. Then, she stood to her feet, the floor warm below her toes. She wriggled them around, trying to soak in the plushness of the carpet. Back at home, she would have awoken to cold wooden floors full of splinters and holes. She found it weird that she missed them.

She found herself walking towards the window. A faint light illuminated from behind the velvet curtains. Pulling them back, a bright red sky was revealed. Glittering buildings dotted the horizon line where the sun was beginning to peak through.

Even though she had painted it so many times, she had never realized the true beauty of the sunrise. The bright vibrant colors danced through the sky: reds, oranges, yellows, pinks. The golden sun was the pinnacle of it all—a shiny ball of fire that was too bright for one to stare at.

 _Was it her last sunrise?_ It could be. Maybe that's why she was finally realizing it's true beauty. People never know what they have until it's gone, and even things she took for granted, such as the sunrise, could be gone within a day. _Was last night her final sunset?_

Her eyes moved towards the corner of her room, where a blank canvas sat upon a silver easel. It had been there for the entirety of her stay—yet she hadn't dared touch it.

 _Why?_ She pretended she didn't know the reason, but really, she knew why. This entire week, her mind had been clouded with fear and blood and death. Never once had she thought of something beautiful; she didn't even think of the sunrise. Scared her last painting would be reflective of her violent thoughts, she had stayed away from the easel. Only now did she feel gravitated to it.

She walked towards it and sifted through a bin of brushes on the table next to it. Finding the perfect one, she picked it up and headed towards the dozens of cans of paints. At home, she could have only dreamed of possessing so many colors. Now, she took it for granted.

Her eyes scanned the paint cans. There were so many colors, it was almost overwhelming. For a few minutes, she stood perplexed as she tried to pick a paint to match the vivid sunrise she planned to paint.

Then, a reddish hue caught her eye. It was beautiful, a deep velvety shade that reminded her of envy, of love, of passion, and finally, of death.

 _Crimson,_ the front of the can read.

She unscrewed the cap of the paint can and dipped her brush into the thick liquid. The paint was beautiful and thick, unlike anything she painted with at home.

It had the consistency of fresh blood.

She touched the tip of the brush to the white canvas. Then, she lost herself her fantasy world of vivid colors, of beautiful skies, of golden suns and cotton candy clouds. A world of new beginnings and no ends; a world in which there were infinite sunsets left to see.

* * *

 _Velicity Peach, 14, District 11 Female._

"Are you excited for the games?" Basil asked her over breakfast.

She didn't respond and only lifted another chocolate scone into her mouth. It melted upon contact, the chocolate making her tongue tingle with delight. It was sad to think that this was her last meal in the capitol, but as always, all good things had to come to an end.

Basil continued to talk anyways, ignoring her silence. "I don't really know if I am. The whole idea of death kind of scares me, but I always look on the bright side of things, so I guess I'm excited to hang out with Merino more. If you want you can still be our ally Velicity, it's not too late to join our alliance," he blabbered.

Rolling her eyes, Velicity popped another scone into her mouth. This was the eleventh time this week he had asked her and the third time today. He was either really desperate, or just trying to be nice and include her since she hadn't gotten any alliance offers. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

"So, do you want to?" He asked her again.

Velicity pretended to ignore him. Basil was annoying, if she was being completely honest with herself. Their personalities clashed completely. He was talkative while she was quiet; he was energetic while she was somber; he was optimistic while she preferred to see the glass as half empty, rather than half full.

Basil sighed, placing his fork down on his plate. It made a loud clattering sound when it landed. "I just don't want to leave you out Velicity. I don't want you to spend your last few days alone."

Hissing, Velicity abruptly stood to her feet. "I don't want your pity," she scoffed at him. Her dark eyes shone with anger and annoyance. "And who says these are going to be my last few days? I'm going to survive, longer then you are at least. If I had to guess, you're the one who is going to die today. I don't need your pity. You need mine."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it lik—"

"I don't care how you meant it. You said it, that's all that matters."

She left the room without another word. Basil didn't follow her—he had probably given up. It was about time anyways, for he hadn't stopped badgering her for days.

Velicity made her way into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut. It made a loud noise and echoed off the bright white tiles that lined the walls of the room. However, she didn't care. The louder the better in her opinion. At least this way, Basil and everyone on the adjacent floors would get the hint that she was unhappy.

Her small body slumped against the back of the door. She felt her knees buckle, and her body began to slowly slide towards the ground. She was helpless to the inevitable force of gravity; she was helpless to the inevitable death that was coming for her in the games. Velicity had never not felt helpless. Not when her parents had been executed by the capitol, nor when she had been reaped for the games.

Tears welled in her eyes. Silver, they shimmered under the bright lights plastered to the walls. She longed for control, for a crevasse in the cliff she could hang onto to prevent her from slipping to her death. If only she had a friend, or someone to talk to. But everyone who tried to help her she pushed away. _Rosa. Milla. Basil._

"Tributes, please report down to the training center immediately. Your escort and stylist will be waiting for your arrival and will accompany you to your hovercraft."

They said it like she had a choice whether or not she wanted to go down to the training center. However, she was helpless to their commands, to their whims, to their games, and consequently, she was most helpless to death itself.

* * *

 _Merino Jones, 13, District 8 Male._

He blindly followed his stylist down the narrow and dimly lit halls of the catacombs. It was cold down there—round goosebumps lined the exposed skin on his arms and legs.

He was wearing what he'd worn to bed the previous night, a plain white cotton tee shirt and blue shorts. Both were soft and comfortable. Only now did he realize that they had been made back in Eight. It was possibly his friends had threaded the intricate stitches or dyed his shorts blue with sticky indigo. _Weird,_ he thought to himself as he walked.

Since he had boarded the train and left for the Capitol, Merino hadn't thought about his friends, or rather, anyone back at home. But that was normal. Even when his days weren't numbered and he aimlessly roamed the dirt latent streets of Eight without a care in the world besides what his next meal was going to be, he never thought of anyone but himself. He never thought of his friends and rarely his parents.

Perhaps he was selfish, or perhaps it was the way he'd grown up. The threat of starvation always loomed over him, and the only way he could fend it off was by only taking food for himself. If he had thought of his brother or his father, maybe he'd have already been dead at this moment, rotting in a grave somewhere deep in the ground.

Too bad Merino had too simple of a mind to realize the irony of his thought. He only followed his stylist like a shepherd leading sheep to the slaughter. Finally, his stylist stopped walking and disappeared through a door to Merino's right. He followed her inside.

On the wall hung another white cotton t-shirt with a black eight stitched onto the back. Below it was a pair of plain black pants, and resting on the floor below those was a pair of white and black sneakers.

"Put them on," his stylist instructed.

Merino nodded his head and slipped off his shirt and pants. He took the other off the hanger and put it on over his head. Then, he stepped into the pants. They fit perfectly, as if they were made specifically for him.

The shoes were a puzzle though. Merino tried to slip them on, yet his small heel didn't fit into the hole in the shoe. HIs stylist snickered at him, watching as he tried and failed to put on the sneaker.

"Merino, do you even know how to tie a shoe?" She asked after a considerable amount of time.

Merino only blinked at her. "No, I never wore shoes back at home."

The woman gave him a look of pity before bending down to untie his shoes for him. "I guess you'll never learn then," she muttered under her breath, though too quietly for him to hear.

After they were untied, Merino had an easier time putting the shoes on. Once they were on, his stylist tied them up for him. He gave her a smile in return.

She returned it, though weakly. "Alright, now step into the tube."

Merino obediently walked across the room. The shoes felt nice on his feet, though were a bit tight. He stepped into the tube and looked back at his stylist, his gaze blank.

"Are you ready?" She asked him.

He shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Even to die?"

"I would have died anyways. I was always hungry in Eight, so I would have starved soon enough. It was only a matter of time. Everyone has to die at some point, so why is now any different?"

"You're very wise for a thirteen-year-old," she told him.

"I can't read," Merino replied with another shrug. "I wouldn't call that wise."

Before the stylist could respond, the door of his glass tube shut. The floor of the tube was rising, and the underground room was disappearing slowly. Light streamed out from above him, so much that it blinded his eyes. He quickly looked back down. His stylist waved up at him; he waved back.

Soon, his view of the room was completely obscured. Blinking his eyes, he glanced around. Glittering buildings surrounded a semicircle of platforms, each with tributes perched on top of them. He was standing next to the boy from District Ten and the pretty girl from One. In the center of the semicircle was the cornucopia, which was stocked with weapons and supplies. Just in front of it was a statue of Panem's current president, President Heron. Her eyes seemed to stare right into Merino's soul.

They seemed to be in some kind of central square. Grey pavement covered the ground, and streets winded in between the buildings surrounding them. Merino sighed, glancing up at the placid blue sky.

Then, the countdown began.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Next chapter is the bloodbath! Thank you all for sticking with this story, and I actually never thought I'd make it through my first pregames. A lot of SYOTs burn out during the reapings and pregames, and I'm proud I made it this far! I hope you all liked this portion of the story, and we are now onto our third, the Games!_**

 ** _Questions: Bloodbath predictions? Victor predictions?_**

 ** _paper :)_**


	30. The Bloodbath: Pity the Broken

_The Bloodbath: Pity the Broken_

* * *

 ** _And we're here! I get to start killing all your tributes! A few little housekeeping things before the fun starts though :)_**

 ** _The actual writing in this chapter is over 8k words, which I know is a lot. This is just a heads up, so feel free to read it in chunks._**

 ** _It is nothing against you if I kill your tribute. It's just how the story goes._**

 ** _I will not let your tribute win if you aren't reading. If you haven't reviewed in a while, just send me a PM telling me you're still here and we are all good to go!_**

 ** _Now for the good stuff! Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _Kaeleah Stonegate, 16, District 1 Female._

The buildings were gorgeous. They reminded her of the sparkling jewelry she'd see through frosted glass windows in the shops on the main streets in District One when she was a child. She'd always ask her father for the necklaces, normally the smaller ones that weren't encrusted in glittering diamonds but were still beautiful in their own regard. However, her simple question was always met with a hasty slap in the face and an annoyed response: _once you come back from the games_. Things in her house always revolved around the games, always. She was an afterthought at best, and at worst, she wasn't even considered.

"Well, I'm here dad. I'm here," she murmured too softly for the microphones to pick up. "Where is my damn necklace now?"

No one responded as she expected. The buildings only gleamed brighter in the midday sun, as if they were diamonds on a necklace or shimmering waves in the ocean. It was as if they were taunting her—reminding her of all that could be her's if she won the games, but deep in her heart, she knew there was no victory in her future. There was no silver necklace that her father had promised her for years and there never would be. After the games there would be something else her father would demand of her, and after she accomplished that, there would be another task, this one more impossible than the last.

Home was hell; the games were no better. Maybe only in death would she be free.

* * *

 _Tristan Juniper, 12, District 7 Male._

10.

Another second closer to the death of his innocence, the death of his childhood.

9.

He couldn't think about that now. He would survive.

8.

Millie needed him to come home.

7.

He would do it for Millie.

6.

He was twelve, twelve was too young to die. _Right_?

5.

 _Right_. No one died at twelve.

4.

Only old people died.

3.

And villains. Villains died too, especially in stories.

2.

He most certainly wasn't a villain. He was a hero. And heroes never died—ever.

1.

Celeste would protect him; she promised nothing bad would happen to him. He'd go into the cornucopia, grab the supplies, and get out. Simple as that. She promised him he wouldn't be harmed.

"Let the 10th Hunger Games begin!"

And he ran right into the cornucopia; right into the eye of the storm, and he hoped with all his heart that he'd be able to see the blue sky again once it was all over.

* * *

 _Gadget and Gizmo McGhee, 14, District 3 Male._

"Gadget, stop staring at the buildings like you are in some kind of trance! We have to go!" Gizmo yelped, pulling as hard on his brother as he could possibly manage. However, Gadget barely budged, his feet stuck to the concrete like glue.

Gadget didn't respond. His icy blue eyes were glazed over with a thin layer of haze, making them look like grey clouds on an early spring day. They were focused on a metallic blue building just behind their platform that seemed to stretch on for infinity until the touched the heavens.

"Listen to me brother! We need to get out of here, or some crazy tribute is going to come and hurt us! I promised mom you wouldn't get hurt, and as your older brother by exactly two-point-five seconds, I am responsible for you. We need to get out of here as fast as possible, or we might not be able to make it out of here at all!"

Gadget's face remained expressionless; his eyes still glazed over. "It won't make a difference; the Capitol hates us. They'll send a mutt to kill us anyways. Just let me admire the view one last time."

Letting out a low growl, it was apparent Gizmo was frustrated. _How had his brother already given up hope?_ They still had a chance, they always had a chance. They weren't just consigned to death the moment their name was picked from the glass bowls. That's why the Capitol let there be a victor. If they didn't want to give the tributes the chance, they would have just shot them point blank the moment they were reaped.

With a flick of his wrist, Gizmo slapped his pale hand across Gadget's rosy cheek. Gadget curled back in shock, his eyes no longer glossy. Gizmo was just as surprised. He had never hit his brother before—ever.

"Let's go," was all Gizmo was able to murmur. Gadget complied and let Gizmo drag him along without any protest. He didn't look at the beautiful buildings again. His eyes were focused on the monogamous grey ground, not daring to waiver anywhere else.

They had no supplies—no weapons, no food, no water—no nothing. But at least they'd live to see the sunset. Hopefully.

But Gizmo knew they would because unlike Gadget, he never gave up hope.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He was the second one to reach the cornucopia, lagging behind only the thin boy from Seven, Tristan. He was fast, Alaric would give him that. But fast didn't equal smart because if Alaric was him, he would have used his speed to run as far away as possible from the bloody mess that was about to be the bloodbath.

The first thing that Alaric noticed about the cornucopia was that it was dark. Normally, his eyes would have been able to adjust quickly, but with the blinding reflections of the buildings shining in his eyes seconds before, the transition was a big one. It was like black and white; night and day.

After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted enough to see the faint outline of a butcher's knife lying by his feet. He picked it up, noticing how light it felt in his hand. Normally, his preferred weapon would be a broadsword, but for now, at least until the bloodbath ended, the knife would do. He couldn't spend all day in here looking for a sword. If he did, he wouldn't have time to babysit Lena and make sure she didn't do anything stupid, like killing their only allies. Because without his supervision, he knew she would.

However, he first needed to deal with Tristan. The cornucopia was still too dark to see him, but Alaric knew the boy was still in there. He could hear him in the back, fishing through supply crates in search of whatever treasure he coveted. Twelve-year-old's rarely killed during the games, so it was probably food, water, or supplies.

"I know you are in here Tristan," he announced with a booming voice. The shuffling noises in the back of the cornucopia stopped, and for a minute, everything was silent. Alaric could feel the boy's terrified eyes land on him.

He didn't have time to wait until his eyes adjusted. He was going to need to coax the boy out.

"It's alright, I won't hurt you," he murmured softly, trying to make his voice sound less intimidating. "You're allied with Celeste, right? She's my friend too, we talked a bit during the pre-games. She seemed very nice, I see why you chose to be her ally."

The boy's breathing slowed. Yet, he didn't budge, staying right where he was.

"Come out, don't be afraid," Alaric cooed. "I'm friends with Celeste, remember?"

Tristan began to walk hesitantly towards Alaric. He was close enough now that Alaric could see him through the dim light.

Alaric didn't even hesitate. Once the boy was in sight, he sprang towards him, slashing his knife across Tristan's chest. Tristan let out a terrified yelp and staggered backward, his shirt dripping with Crimson blood. Only now could Alaric see Tristan's face clearly. His brown eyes were wide with terror and disbelief.

It had been the boy's fault for trusting him, it was as simple as that. At twelve he had still trusted people too. Perhaps if he was just a bit older and life had had time to teach him that not everyone was a good guy, he wouldn't have made the mistake. Alaric found that kids were always far too trusting.

He slashed the knife in Tristan's direction again; however, the boy was swift. He ducked, easily dodging the blow. Then, Tristan took off towards the cornucopia's exit, leaving Alaric in the dust.

By the time Alaric had realized that Tristan had evaded him, it was too late. The dark-skinned boy was already out of the cornucopia, his legs pumping wildly. Alaric growled and took off after the boy.

"Celeste, help me! Celeste! Celeste!" Tristan howled, his shirt stained with rose red blood. His tone was urgent and anyone with eyes could see he was deathly afraid.

Alaric knew he couldn't catch the agile boy. He spotted his district partner, Kaeleah, picking up a bow a few feet to the left of the cornucopia.

"Kaeleah!" He shouted, catching her attention. She glanced at him with attentive eyes, and he pointed a finger towards Tristan.

She nodded, loading a silver arrow onto her bow. Tristan was still yelping like a frightened puppy frantically searching for its owner.

For a second, Alaric truly thought the boy was going to get away. But then the arrow hit him square in the back, and any doubt he had was squandered. The predator had caught its prey.

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District 7 Female._

 _You promised_ , Tristan mouthed before his limp body hit the hard pavement with a smack. For a second their eyes met before his gaze glazed over with the murky haze of death. His once rosy cheeks were painted pale with fear; his shirt, which was once white, was now stained red with crimson blood.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. There was only silence as she gaped at Tristan's dead body with a stomach full of regret and eyes wet with salty tears.

 _This was all her fault. If only she hadn't agreed to Raleigh's moronic plan to send Tristan to get all the supplies. Maybe he'd still be alive. He'd still be laughing and smiling but now he was dead. If only she had distracted Kaeleah. If only she had tried to save him, but instead she didn't move. If only she hadn't promised she would save him. If only—if only._

 _If only Tristan was still alive._

A cannon went off. It was short and deafening. She couldn't hear anything after it. There was only silence as she stared helplessly at Tristan's limp body.

 _Maybe he was still alive. That could have been someone else's canon, right? It couldn't have been his. She promised he wouldn't get hurt, and she never broke promises. Maybe this was all a dream._

She needed to make sure. Celeste tried to run towards his body; however, something held her back. She turned to see Raleigh's hand tightly clasped onto her thin arm.

"Let me go!" She screeched at him. "Let me see if Tristan's dead! I have the right to see him, he's my district partner and friend!"

Raleigh only tightened his grip, beginning to pull her in the opposite direction of Tristan.

"No!" She yelped, her voice cracking. "No! Let me go! He's not dead! He can't be! I promised him I'd look after him! He can't be dead, he just can't be!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks, yet Raleigh didn't let her go. He continued to pull her back, practically dragging her away from her district partner's dead body.

"Celeste, he's dead. We heard his cannon go off," Raleigh muttered in a gruff voice. "He's dead, and there is nothing we can do for him. We need to go now, or we'll be dead too."

She thrashed about, wailing. Raleigh continued to drag her across the concrete. "No! No! You're lying, he's not dead! He's not! Stop lying to me Raleigh!"

Through her tears, she could see Tristan's glassy eyes, and deep down inside, she knew they would be that way forever. She was the one who killed him; it was all her fault. She broke her promise.

Still, as Raleigh dragged her away, she couldn't help but wonder what if.

* * *

 _Merino Jones, 13, District 8 Male._

Glancing around the cornucopia, Merino frantically searched for his ally, Basil. He probably should have done this before the buzzer sounded—but in his defense, he wasn't one to make plans. He normally just went on random whims, doing whatever he felt like in the heat of the moment. And in the heat of this moment, his gut was telling him to find his ally.

"Basil!" He called out, his voice echoing off the towering buildings and hard concrete beneath his feet. His dark eyes continued to search for Basil's skinny body, yet moments later, he was unsuccessful in his search. The crowd surrounding the cornucopia was beginning to thin, many tributes retreating into the endless cityscape of tall buildings and concrete streets. He picked out the charred face of the girl from Twelve as she disappeared behind a building with a bag slung over her shoulder.

He called out again. "Basil!"

This time, his cry was met with a response. "Merino!" It came from the opposite side of the cornucopia, behind the statue of Panem's founder and the ring of weapons and supplies. Squinting his eyes, he located the thin body of Basil standing beside his platform. He was merrily waving his hand as if they were two friends seeing each other across a room at a party, but the only party they were going to today was a funeral. Hopefully, it wasn't going to be for them.

Merino began to run across the circle of platforms, dodging tributes as they sifted through the supplies. His eyes were fixed on Basil, unmoving from their target. Perhaps if they had been moving, they would have spotted the white smile of the girl from District Two before it was too late.

 _Smack_. His body collided with her's. Yet, at a hair over five feet and just below 100 pounds, Merino only bounced off her chest and fell to the ground.

"And my mentor said tribute hunting was hard," the girl chuckled. With a hard tug, she grabbed the back of Merino's shirt and yanked him to his feet.

His wide eyes met her's. A shimmering green, they blazed with excitement, a desire that Merino failed to understand. Truthfully, he had never been excited about anything in his life. Perhaps it was because his life back in Eight was so grim, to begin with—he was always hungry or cold or more often than not, both at the same time. Or rather, perhaps it was because he didn't have the time and energy for dreams or what ifs. His entire life, he had always lived in the moment, never once thinking about the future.

So now, as the girl held a shiny silver blade to his throat, Merino still wasn't thinking about what was going to happen next. He didn't fear death, nor the shimmering green eyes that pierced a hole right through his skull. Fear wasn't a word found in his limited vocabulary.

"Merino!" His ally screamed. Basil began to run towards him, yet it was too late. In his attempt to save Merino, his selfless ally had only attracted attention to himself. A boy with a black nine on his back had grabbed Basil by the throat and was holding him in a chokehold. Basil thrashed about, trying desperately to get free. Yet, his body soon went limp, his efforts failed.

 _If Basil had been in his current situation, would be have tried to save him?_ The answer came to him clearly as day. No. Yet, he didn't feel bad.

A cannon sounded. The green-eyed girl grinned and pressed the knife harder against Merino's throat. Crimson blood began to sweep from his neck—warm and sticky.

"I hope you don't take this personally. You're only training for what I'm going to do to the District One tributes later. My idiotic mentors said I couldn't kill them until we were in the final ten, so for now, I'll just pretend it's Eris' neck I'm cutting, not yours," the girl chortled as she slashed her knife across his throat.

A pair of deaths: the selfless, and the selfish. One trying to save another; the second merely trying to save himself.

Yet, death came the same. The sword didn't care who you were. It just cut.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

Her allies were idiots.

They had made a detailed plan for the bloodbath last night before the games had begun. Or rather, to put it more accurately, _she_ had made a detailed plan for the bloodbath last night. Cinder and Jaxs would go into the cornucopia to get all the supplies while she stayed on the outskirts of the cornucopia and waited for them to do all the work. Then, after they retrieved the weapons and supplies, Lux would order them to kill some of her competition while she sat back and watched.

It was mind-blowing how submissive her two allies were. She couldn't have found a better pair—each one practically willing to sacrifice themselves for her silly "plans". Any rightminded person wouldn't have agreed to run into the bloodbath to fetch her weapons, but her two allies somehow did.

From what Jaxs had told her about his life back at home, Lux assumed he was just used to following orders. The only thing that had changed over the past two weeks was the person giving directions. Back home it had been his parents; in the Capitol it was Lux. Jaxs didn't have his own brain. He had no clue how to make his own decisions and always needed someone to do all the thinking for him.

Yet, Cinder was a completely different story. It wasn't that he didn't know how to make decisions for himself—he most definitely did. But rather, his problem was that he didn't know how to say no. He knew her idea of going right into the cornucopia was a dangerous one, but he didn't know how to speak up for himself. He was far too kind and selfless to decline her pleads for help. All Lux had to do was make sure he didn't learn.

Lux narrowed her eyes at the cornucopia, watching as her two allies emerged with various weapons. Somehow, they had made it out unscathed. Cinder had a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, while Jaxs carried a couple of knives in his hand. _Perfect, they'd protect her._

Lux smiled, relieved that her allies had made it out alive. "Nice work guys!" She chimed as they approached.

"Thanks!" Cinder beamed, returning her smile. Yet, his was genuine. "I hope we got everything you needed!"

"Well, not everything," Lux replied, glancing down at the blue bag a few feet away. Walking over to it, she grabbed it by the strap. However, Lux wasn't the only one who had her eyes on the bag.

Gripping onto the other strap was Abrielle, the girl from District Nine. Her brown eyes were wide with fear, yet even when Lux gave her a chilling glance, the girl did not back down. She already had one bag slung over her shoulder—and this would have been her second if she had grabbed it one moment quicker.

"It's mine! Let go of it!" Lux howled, yanking on her strap. However, her yank didn't do much. Abrielle barely budged, her fingers still tightly laced around the other strap of the backpack.

"Please, I don't want to fight," Abrielle whimpered. "Just let me take the bag, and no one has to get hurt."

Lux shook her head back and forth defiantly. Yet, before she could summon her allies to help pry the bag out of the girl's hands, Abrielle tugged on her side of the strap, causing Lux to release her weak grip. Then, Abrielle broke into a sprint and headed for a stretch of buildings a few yards away.

Lux snarled, turning back to her allies. Both stared wide-eyed at her, stunned.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go after her!" Lux commanded.

Jaxs nodded his head rapidly, sprinting after the girl without hesitation. Cinder's eyes flickered between Lux and the girl as if he didn't know what to do. But then, like the obedient ally he was, he took off after Jaxs and Abrielle. Lux followed suit.

The openness of the city square was soon replaced by dozens of crowded buildings, each stretching on for infinity until they reached the grey clouds flanking the sky. The four tributes raced through the narrow streets, the frightened Abrielle at the head and the panting Lux at the back. For what seemed like ages, they winded through the empty city streets in silence, playing a real-life game of cat and mouse.

They must have run for a half-mile or so before the towering buildings began to become shorter and less frequent. In the distance loomed faint mountains. A large town lay at their base, only another half or so mile away.

Abrielle was beginning to slow down. Lux and her allies were now only a few footsteps behind her, practically nipping at her heels.

Then, out of nowhere, Abrielle's legs gave out beneath her. She collapsed onto the ground and began to cough violently. Lux guessed she must have asthma or something along those lines.

"P—please," the girl from District Nine wheezed. She was obviously out of breath. "D—don't kill me. I'll give y—you all my stuff. B—both—both my bags. Just please, let—let m—me be."

Lux rolled her eyes, stepping past both Cinder and Jaxs. The girl obviously was telling the truth, it was evident she'd do anything to stay alive. But the more people Lux eliminated, the higher her odds of winning would become.

"Liar!" Lux roared, defiantly pointing a finger at Abrielle. "She's just trying to get us to drop our guard! She probably is hiding a knife in her pocket, and when we go to walk away, she'll stab all of us in the back!"

Jaxs nodded his head, but Cinder didn't look convinced. He looked just as terrified as the girl was with wide grey eyes and trembling limbs.

Abrielle shook her head back and forth wildly. "No, I'm not trying to hurt you! I swear I don't have a knife in my pocket, or anywhere else on me! Please, you have to believe me!"

Taking the bags off her shoulders, Abrielle threw them over to the trio. Then, she overturned her already empty pockets, revealing only air and dust. Finally, she raised her hands into the air and stood, beginning to slowly back away.

"Stop!" Lux ordered, causing Abrielle to stop dead in her tracks. "You aren't going anywhere. If we let you go, you'll be back! Next time with weapons! You'll kill us all if we let you go!"

Tears began to roll down Abrielle's face. "No, I swear! I won't! You'll never see me again, I promise!"

Lux snarled. "Promises mean nothing in a game of life and death. It's kill or be killed."

Turning back to her allies, Lux gave them the kill signal. Jaxs grabbed a knife and stepped forwards, yet Cinder lingered behind her, his grey eyes wide with fear. Jaxs was eager to do whatever she asked him to. On the other hand, Cinder did not. He looked hesitant to kill; hesitant to follow Lux's orders.

"Wait," Lux murmured, holding her arm out to stop Jaxs from going any further. She turned towards Cinder, giving him a sly smile. She needed to test his devotion—see how far he'd go for her. After he had betrayed her at the Interviews, she was beginning to question how good he was to her. She needed him to reprove his loyalty to her by doing something he would never do on his own: kill an innocent girl.

"This kill belongs to Cinder."

Cinder gulped, taking a step backward. "I—I—" he stuttered, yet before he could finish his thought, Lux cut him off.

"Cinder, do you trust me?" Lux asked, her gaze softening.

"Of course," Cinder answered with certainty.

"Then you need to know I only have your best intentions in mind. She's a threat to you; to us; to our alliance. She could come back and kill us. Wouldn't you be angry if someone stole all your supplies? Wouldn't you be hungry for revenge? I certainly would. I need you to do this Cinder. I _need_ you to protect our alliance."

"But—"

"What if she comes back and hurts us Cinder? What if she kills me or Jaxs? You'd never be able to live with yourself. You _can_ protect us Cinder. You _can_ kill her."

With a shaky hand, Cinder reached for an arrow and loaded it onto the bow. Then, with trembling arms, he raised the bow into the air, aiming the arrow tip at the wide-eyed Abrielle.

"Please!" Abrielle pleaded, glittering tears streaming down her face. "She's lying to you! I won't come back! I won't hurt you! You'll never see me again, I swear on my life! You don't have to do this!"

Cinder's gaze flickered back to Lux. It flashed with uncertainty, yet, Lux knew exactly how to handle this.

"Cinder, why would _I_ lie to you? _I_ 'm not the one held at gunpoint, saying anything I can just to live another day. I am your ally. I'd never hurt you, or lie to you. Ever."

Cinder nodded his head, his arms still trembling like an earthquake. He turned back towards Abrielle and pulled the string of his bow back. All he needed to do was let go, and the arrow would be an inch deep in her skull.

"Please!" She screeched. "You don't have to do this! Put down the bow and let me go! You don't have to kill! You don't have to be a monster!"

"Cinder, you're no monster. You're only doing what needs to be done." Lux replied.

"No, please!" Abrielle screamed.

"Cinder, you have to!"

"You can be the good guy. You can stop this. You don't have to kill me. You don't have to do what she says, you don't have to follow her orders. I beg you, let me live!" She wailed.

"Cinder, you know what has to be d—"

And he released.

* * *

 _Marena Combe, 17, District 10 Female._

Another cannon went off, making that a total of—four.

She frowned, placing a hand on her head. Every time she even thought of the simplest things, such as adding or really anything logical related, her head began to pound violently as if it were being slammed repeatedly against a concrete wall. _Effects of a hangover_ , her mentor had told her earlier that day. Maybe it wasn't the best decision heavily drinking before the night of the games, but then again, she never made good decisions.

Chance and her watched Kaeleah intently, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She was the weakest career, and Chance and she had decided that they should make a big move during the bloodbath. That meant taking out a career, and Kaeleah was the perfect target. With a five in training, it wouldn't be too hard to take her out. They had both bested her anyways and by logic—

Marena stopped herself there, her head beginning to pound wildly again. Not only that, but her throat was as dry as a dessert in the middle of a drought. _More effects of a hangover_ , her mentor had told her. _Damn, maybe that was a bad decision._

Kaeleah loaded an arrow onto her bow, shooting it at the girl from District Eleven who was picking up a knife a few yards away. It missed by inches, soaring just above her head.

This was the perfect moment to strike. She was distracted and wouldn't see them coming. Plus, her District partner Eris was sparing with Albert a few feet away and wouldn't be able to come to their aid.

"Now!" Marena exclaimed, launching a knife at Kaeleah.

However, just as she was about to hurl the knife at the thin body of Kaeleah, she lost her concentration. It was her hangover again. The knife sailed feet to the right of its intended target, missing completely.

Marena swore under her breath as Chance leaped onto Kaeleah's back. Both of them tumbled to the ground, and Kaeleah let out a surprised yelp as she hit the concrete with a loud smack.

Running towards the pair, Marena watched as they rolled around on the ground, interlocked in a wrestling match concerning life and death. The two were pretty equal, as Chance was much bigger then Kaeleah, but Kaeleah had training under her belt, which Chance lacked. It went on for a while, and when one seemed to have pinned the other, the person who was pinned broke free and the fight began all over again.

Once she reached the pair, Marena stabbed her remaining knife into Kaeleah's left shoulder. The girl let out a cry of pain and grabbed Marena's leg. Marena lost her balance and fell to the hard earth. A gash that had previously been on her leg opened up again, red blood pouring out onto the grey concrete.

By the time Marena sat up, she saw that Chance had pinned Kaeleah to the ground. She was wriggling and flailing around, trying desperately to break free. However, with her now wounded shoulder, she was weaker then she had been before, and this time, she couldn't escape Chance's strong grip.

"Marena, get the rope," Chance ordered hastily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of rope a little shorter than the length of her arm. Then, she held it over Kaeleah's neck, strangling the blonde girl.

Her face was beginning to turn purple. She kept gasping for air, yet none came. She still continued to struggle though, not giving up.

Marena's throat felt like it was on fire. She needed water badly. Then, she began to cough violently and her grip on the rope loosened.

Taking this as an opportunity to escape, Kaeleah used whatever energy she had left to free her arms from Chace's strong grip. She succeeded in her effort and quickly reached behind her head into the quiver of arrows fastened onto her back.

Marena didn't even have time to react when Kaeleah swiftly retrieved an arrow out of her bag and thrust it right into her left eye. Screeching in pain, Marena fell backward, clutching the place where the arrow had impaled her cornea.

Kaeleah took another arrow out of her quiver and slashed the tip across Chance's neck. Warm blood began to ooze out of the cut, and Kaeleah was now easily able to propel Chance's heavy body off of her's. He didn't even fight back, rolling onto his side limply. From what Marena could see out of her good eye, he didn't have any strength to even sit, let alone stand or counter her attack.

Marena could hear his whimpers as Kaeleah rolled onto her knees. She leaned over Chance's bleeding body and pushed him onto his back. Then, with one swift movement, she stabbed tip of the arrow into his heart. His murmurs of pain were immediately stifled and for a moment, everything was silent.

A cannon went off. _Chance was dead. Her friend was dead._

Whatever pain she felt coming front her eye was quickly replaced by a fiery rage. _The girl had killed Chance, her only ally and friend in these games_. She no longer thirsted for water, but rather—for revenge that would be sweeter than any drink on earth would ever taste.

Kaeleah had collapsed onto the ground, her breaths quick and nervous. Her limbs trembled like an earthquake. Marena didn't blame her. She had almost just been strangled to death. However, she had no sympathy for the pretty girl from the richest district in Panem. She had just killed her best friend, and now, Marena would kill her.

Clamping her teeth together, Marena braced herself. Then, with one fluid motion, she pulled the arrow out of her eye. She let out a screech so loud those in District Ten could probably hear it all the way from the arena.

Blood coated her entire face like a red wedding veil. She could no longer see out of her left eye; however, her right eye was still functioning somewhat. She could still see Kaeleah's terrified eyes, which only made her lust for revenge even stronger.

"For Chance!" She howled, taking the arrow she had just pulled out of her eye and plunging it right into the middle of Kaeleah's neck.

Kaeleah's body jolted to life. It was as if she were struck by lightning. Her arms flew into the air, and her legs kicked about like she was some wild animal. Marena only dug the arrow deeper into her enemy's throat, pressing it down with all her might. She was pressing so hard, she could feel the concrete on the other side.

Kaeleah coughed up thick red blood. It came out in bursts, light at first, but then heavier and heavier as the seconds ticked on. Marena felt herself smile and the blood splattered onto her already crimson-soaked face. _This is for you Chance._

After a minute or so of coughing, the blood stopped coming. Kaeleah's limbs went still, and her eyes glossed over.

A cannon sounded, and Marena wondered by she still didn't feel any better even though Chance's revenge had been served. The same hollow feeling in her chest that she had gotten when Chance's cannon had sounded still lingered even though she had killed Kaeleah.

Actually, it had only made her feel worse.

* * *

 _Lena Evangelos, 18, District 2 Female._

Eris and Albert's fight was as boring as watching paint dry. She and Alaric spectated from the sidelines, unable to join in because of some stupid honor rule Eris had that his battles were his and his to fight alone and that no one could fight them for him. Still, Alaric had said that they needed to stay there just in case something unexpected happened. Lena had only stayed because she wanted to learn all of Eris' moves before she fought him in a few days, it wasn't because she _actually_ listened to her moronic district partner. Well, the battle would be in a few days if she could last that long without killing him out of sheer annoyance, which at this rate, was pretty likely. He was a pretty annoying guy.

Eris was clearly the victor in this fight; it had been that way from the very beginning. Albert was strong, but unlike Eris, he did not possess any form of training.

The first moved of the fight had been Albert's, in which he charged at Eris like an angry bull. Eris easily dodged the blow—even a blind person could have seen it coming from a mile away. Eris then turned around and slashed Albert's right arm with his fancy sword. _He called it a kopis or something stupid like that, and apparently, it was from Ancient Greece._ Personally, she thought it was absolutely moronic. _Why couldn't he just use a normal sword, they worked perfectly well for her?_ Still, even a fancy sword wouldn't make him a better fighter then she was. She'd still win in a few days, and she would get her revenge as she had planned.

From there, the fight had been completely one-sided. Albert had taken blow after blow, while Eris looked as if he didn't even have a single scratch. Albert fought entirely with his rage and not his head, which was why he was doing so poorly. It wasn't that Eris was an amazing fighter by any stretch of the imagination—he most certainly wasn't. It was just he was fighting smarter then Albert was. _But compared to her, he was fighting like a dummy._ Obviously.

She rolled her eyes and Albert charged at Eris again and missed entirely. "You idiotic land lubber, come and fight me like a man! Don't keep dodging my blows!" He howled, making Alaric laugh.

Eris grinned, spinning around and kicking Albert to the ground. Albert huffed and tried to stand up, but he couldn't. He only fell back to the ground in a heap of anger.

"Get up moronic body, d—" he shouted, yet was cut off by the sound of a cannon.

 _That made six_. Lena glanced around, trying to see who around her had died.

Behind her, the limp body of Kaeleah lay lifeless in a pool of shimmering blood. On top of her was Marena, who was digging an arrowhead into Kaeleah's neck while simultaneously clutching her bleeding eye. Lena screamed in anger, and she felt her nostrils beginning to flare with rage.

"You little bitch, you stole my revenge!" She howled, not able to control herself nor her words. She grabbed the sword next to her and leaped to her feet.

Eris looked up from his fight, a confused expression plastered on his face. He didn't even flinch when he saw Kaeleah's dead body. To him, her being dead was just another step closer to him winning the games and bringing honor to his family. They had never really been friends anyways and had been more of acquaintances if anything. Her death didn't have the same impact on him as it did Lena.

"What revenge?" He questioned, blinking his eyes at her. Lena ignored him completely and sprinted over towards Marena, her sword clutched tightly in her hand. _She had stolen Lena's revenge! It was her's, it belonged to her! She was supposed to kill Kaeleah in order to avenge Quartz! But now that little bitch had ruined everything—her entire plan for the past two years! She was going to kill her—she was going to make her pay for everything she ruined!_

"It's—it's nothing," Alaric stuttered, trying to cover up Lena's slip of words. However, Lena didn't care. She only cared about one thing: killing that entitled and pompous girl who had stolen her revenge.

Lena kicked the stunned girl away from Kaeleah's dead body, sending her flying across the blood-soaked pavement.

"Kaeleah was supposed to be my kill!" Lena howled.

"What's—what's going on? Did Lena plan to kill Kaeleah?" Eris asked, still confused.

"It's nothing," Alaric replied swiftly. "Lena is just angry that her ally is dead is all. Right, Lena?"

Lena didn't respond, and spat at the girl, kicking her in the ribs over and over again. Marena let out muffled yelps of pain, whimpering like a sick puppy. She still was feverishly clutching her eye and was now curled into a ball as Lena continued to kick her.

"Quartz was the love of my life, and I was supposed to avenge her!"

Lena kicked Marena again, making her cough up blood.

"Her allies from District One killed her, and I was supposed to kill my District One allies this year to make it even!"

Eris' mouth dropped open, and he stared at Lena, stunned. Lena kicked again.

"But you ruined it all you stupid girl, all of my plans! I've had them for a year! I've been waiting for this moment every waking hour of my existence, and you ruined it all! All of it!"

Another kick. And another. Lena was going to make this girl suffer; she deserved it. She deserved to rot in a pool of her own blood and die in agony. She didn't deserve a quick death; Quartz hadn't had a quick death. Everything that comes around goes around, and Lena was going to make it hit this girl like a fricking truck.

"Alaric, is this true?" Eris asked.

Alaric didn't respond, only staring blankly at Lena. He was probably upset that his plans had been ruined, but Lena didn't care. Marena had ruined her plans, and she was going to ruin everyone else's. If she was on a sinking ship, she'd bring everyone else down with her. Even Alaric.

Another kick. Even a million more wouldn't be enough for this girl who had ruined everything.

"Is this true?" Eris inquired, his tone much more demanding and urgent this time.

Silence. The only sound was Marena's quiet whimpers as Lena's boot hit her shattered ribs.

"No," Alaric murmured unconvincingly.

Eris growled, throwing his fancy sword to the ground in frustration. He stomped up to Alaric and grabbed the collar of his white t-shirt, pulling him closer.

"Tell me the damned truth, or so help me I'll k—"

Alaric pushed him away harshly. "It's the damned truth, alright? Is that what you want to hear? Lena was planning to kill you both for months to avenge her dead friend. I knew about it but didn't partake in the scheming."

Another kick. Her secret was out. _Whatever. What did it matter anyway? Her plan was already ruined, she could never fully avenge Quartz. Eris could come kill her, she didn't care. She didn't have anything left to live for now that her revenge was ruined._

A cannon sounded. It was Marena. However, Lena kept pounding the dead girl's fractured ribs, hoping that wherever she was now, she'd still be able to feel it.

Then she felt strong hands push against her chest. She didn't fight it, she had nothing left to fight for now that she couldn't enact her revenge. Her whole life's purpose was ruined. Instead, she just let the force of gravity pull her to the blood-soaked ground.

She landed on her back but didn't try to get up. _Life was meaningless_. Eris put his foot square on her chest and pressed the weight of it against her sternum. _She didn't pull it off. She was done fighting; she was done struggling. There was nothing in life that worth living for anymore._

Eris stared down at her, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Are you even going to try to fight back?" He spat.

"No. There is nothing left to fight for now that my purpose in life is gone," Lena hissed back.

"But don't you want to kill me to enact your stupid revenge?"

"No, I can't. It's ruined."

"Then at least fight me for your honor!" He roared, pressing his boot down harder against her chest. "I want to see you struggle before I kill you!"

Lena smiled. "No. I won't give you that satisfaction. You don't deserve it," she jeered.

Eris continued to apply pressure to her chest. Lena should have begun to felt pain, but her whole body tingled with numbness instead.

"I pity you, Lena."

"Oh yeah? Then kill me right now and put me out of my misery," she hissed.

"I thought you were just a mean person when I first met you. You just liked to boss people around and make other people upset. I thought you were insecure, and you needed to make yourself feel better by putting others down. But now I realize how wrong I was. Lena, you're not mean, but rather, broken. You're so broken. A person whose sole purpose in life is to get revenge is broken. I pity your brokenness because you should be able to find other things to live for that don't include revenge. But you couldn't."

"Just kill me then!" Lena howled. "If you feel so sorry for me do me a favor and end this now!"

He lifted his sword into the air, suspending it inches above her broken heart. For a second, she thought he was going to kill her right then and there. She hoped he would. Yet, it was just wishful thinking. Someone, as broken as her, wouldn't be allowed such as easy death. She knew that at least.

"You don't deserve my pity," he spat, lifting the sword up from her chest.

Then, he bent down, slicing her pinky finger off. She didn't scream. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain.

Then he sliced off her ring finger. Still, she did not scream. He didn't deserve to hear it.

Alaric watched with a blank expression as Eris cut off her middle finger.

As he chopped off the rest of Lena's fingers, Eris didn't bother to realize he hadn't finished Albert off. The red-headed boy was slowly crawling away, half-alive, half-dead. He had made a vow to himself to return again once he had recovered, and next time, he wouldn't leave until Eris' cannon had sounded.

After her fingers, the boys moved onto her toes. Still, Lena didn't scream, lost in a sea of a meaningless numbness.

* * *

 _Tesserae Bird, 15, District 6 Female._

Another cannon went off in the distance. Tesserae shuttered. That was the eighth one. Another person she could have saved: dead.

"Grace, maybe we should go back. I—I—don't feel right about running away from the bloodbath. I could have saved those people, but instead I just ran away like a coward," she murmured as they continued to walk away from the city square.

Grace shook her head, continuing to walk along the narrow road. They were almost out of the city, and in the distance, a small town could be seen. There was a sign on the side of the road, with a big black three and arrow pointing in the direction they were walking in. Apparently, they were headed towards the "3", whatever that meant.

"If we stayed we would have died, simple as that. It's called the bloodbath for a reason. We can't save anyone if we're dead," she replied simply.

"Well if we run away we're saving no one! I'm not a coward; I'm not afraid to die. We should have stayed," Tesserae responded.

Grace frowned. "Then if you are so set on dying, be my guest. Go back to the bloodbath and let the careers cut off your head. At best you'll save one person, but then what? Whoever you save will probably die anyway, Tesserae. Only one of us can make it out, and it's most certainly not going to be us or anyone we help. The Capitol won't give us that satisfaction."

"But—" Tesserae protested, yet didn't get very far, for Grace cut her off.

"Like I told you, if you really want, you can go back. I'm not making you do anything Tesserae. You have free will. I was only trying to help you, but if you don't want my advice, you don't have to take it," Grace replied with a serious expression. That's something Tesserae had noticed about her ally. She never liked to make jokes and was always very solemn. Especially when talking about the Capitol. She never joked about that.

Tesserae almost turned to leave, yet something held her back. She didn't quite know what it was though. _Fear? Selfishness? Reason?_

No, no. She was completely selfless. _Right?_ She took extra tesserae so others could eat when she starved. She never thought of herself, even when she was on the brink of death. It couldn't be selfishness. She wasn't a selfish person.

She kept walking, towards whatever "3" was. Grace didn't bring up going to back the cornucopia again, and neither did she. _Why would she?_ Grace was right, she'd save more people this way. Being dead saved no one. She wasn't being selfish, rather, she was just being rational.

Well, that's what she'd like to believe.

* * *

 _ **Holy cow, I finished. The actually writing in this chapter is a smidge over 8k words, my longest one yet. And boy was it a rollercoaster to write.**_

 _ **This is actually my 3rd draft of the bloodbath, but by far my best one. I wrote the first way back before my hiatus because I was so excited, and the second I wrote about a week or so ago. That one stunk, and something just wasn't quite right about it, so I'm glad I revised it. This one has some scenes from the first two, but I won't tell you which ones. My original bloodbaths were much smaller though, and weren't as exciting. I hope you liked this one, I worked super hard on it.**_

 _ **Questions: Any surprises? Anything you expected? What did you think of it?**_

 _ **Eulogies:**_

 _ **24th: Tristan Juniper, District 7 Male. Shot by Kaeleah.**_

 _ **Tristan, I loved you. You were in my top 3 favorite tributes in this story, and it broke my heart to have to kill you. You were so sweet and optimistic and innocent, even in your last few moments. Your relationship with Celeste was so cute, and she was like your older sister of the games. You were actually supposed to live longer then you did, but to advance Raleigh and Celeste's plot line, I had to kill you now. Plus, I couldn't see you realistically making it out of the cornucopia after you went in. In the end, it was your blind trust in Celeste and Alaric that did you in and the idea that you thought you were invincible. I'm really sorry Elim, Tristan was a great tribute, but he sadly had to die. Thank you lots for him.**_

 _ **23rd: Basil Anderson, District 11 Male. Throat Slit by Lena.**_

 _ **Basil was another one of my favorites. I always love the young ones, but they all died, haha! Anyways, Basil was always so friendly and optimistic like Tristan, and I really liked that side of him, especially his interactions with Velicity and Merino. I think dying trying to save his friend was a good way for him to die, and I think that the way he went was the best way for him to go. I really wanted to keep his around longer, but sadly he was a submitted bloodbath. Thanks Silverflower for Basil, he will surely be missed!**_

 _ **22nd: Merino Jones, District 8 Male. Strangled by Draven.**_

 _ **I hated Merino at the beginning. He was hard for me to write, and I had trouble finding scenes for him. I thought he was boring and forgettable. Though, as the games neared, I think I grew attached to him and his death was actually surprisingly hard for me to write. He was a simple guy with simple needs, and I think I learned to like that part of him. At the end, he was a good break from writing the other tributes with flashier backstories and personalities. Thank you LCS for submitting Merino on such short notice and helping me out with my lack of outer district males.**_

 _ **21st: Abrielle Mariani, District 9 Female. Shot by Cinder.**_

 _ **Abrielle was a sweetie, and she was always one of my bloodbath choices. Her submitter disappeared a long time ago, and I could never really see her getting further then the bloodbath or the first night at best. She wasn't that enjoyable for me to write and didn't make any alliances due to her shyness, so I didn't see a big argument for keeping her around. Still, Abrielle was nice and I hope Brandin will finally notice her now that she's dead :)**_

 _ **20th: Chance Marrow, District 10 Male. Stabbed by Kaeleah.**_

 _ **Dangit Chance, why did you have to drink that alcohol? He and Marena were originally in my top 10 and they were going to have a pretty cool arc where Chance confessed her was gay to Marena and they bond and yadadada. But after some consideration, I realized that with their bad choice the night before and Marena's just do it don't think about the consequences attitude, they weren't realistically going to make it out of the bloodbath unscathed. But Chance was a great 3D character, and I like that he wasn't just the "gay" character, but he had another side of his personality too. His relationship with Marena was awesome too, and he was fun to write. But he just made some bad choices, which is why he's dead. He also took his secret to the grave, but that's the way he wanted it, right?**_

 _ **19th: Kaeleah Stonegate, District 1 Female. Stabbed by Marena.**_

 _ **Kaeleah I'm going to be blunt, you were a mary-sue. Absued daughter who is beautiful and amazing and has so many skills—we've seen that troupe before. But I saw potential in you, and I made you my "let's see how complex of a character I can make out of a mary-sue" (The real reason I let her in is because I didn't have any other D1F submission, but we can say I planned this). Anyways, I hope I succeeded somewhat in my mission, and you can go to heaven as a more flawed character. Hopefully.**_

 _ **18th: Marena Combe, District 10 Female. Internal Bleeding, Caused by Lena.**_

 _ **Marena, Marena, Marena. I had so much trouble with you. You were my original victor way long ago back in like June, I mean, you form just screamed it! It was only for a few days, but still. You were never my favorite of the bunch (honestly, I found you a bit annoying), but I think you were a great character nonetheless. You were going to have an awesome arc with Chance and it was going to be lots of fun but as the pregames began to progress, you were just making way too many stupid decisions to win. The decision to drink the alcohol was the thing that did you in at the end. You weren't originally going to die in the chapter, but with Chance dead, I felt like you wouldn't make it much further, and I needed some to die to catalyze the mess that was Lena's death. So thank you Mirrorspirit, and I hope you keep reading and I'd love for you to submit to my next SYOT when it comes out.**_

 _ **17th: Lena Evangelos, District 2 Female. Blood Loss, Caused by Eris.**_

 _ **Lena the only reason you are dead right now is because you're a resubmitted tribute. Yes, there are two other resubmitted tributes still alive, but Lena, you're different. You, unlike them, were written to out the end. You already died. But in all realness, you were a pretty awesome character in my opinion. Very layered, but also not allowed in my SYOT, since my rules stated I didn't want any resubmissions in my story. So you died.**_

 _ **Alliances:**_

 _ **Whatever's left of em', I guess: Eris, Alaric**_

 _ **The Programmer and her Robots: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**_

 _ **Tree Huggers Plus One Minus One: Celeste, Raleigh**_

 ** _We're not selfish. Right?: Tesserae, Grace_**

 _ **Loners: Gadget and Gizmo, Sereina, Albert, Nerida, Draven, Velicity, Arilli**_

 _ **paper :)**_


	31. Day 1: Christmas in July

_Day 1: Christmas in July_

* * *

 _Nerida Willows, 16, District 4 Female._

The sun was bright. It beat down on her ferociously, causing silver beads of sweat to roll down her tanned skin. She continued to run though, pushing through the heat.

The bloodbath had been over for a while. The last cannon had gone off twenty minutes ago, making it eight dead so far that day. It had been the biggest bloodbath to date, for the previous games usually only had small ones where only four or five tributes perished. Never had the death toll been as high as eight. A small part of her wondered what had been different this year, but deep down, she knew the reason.

She hadn't stayed at the bloodbath long, though she could sense the tension between the other tributes. Lucky for her, there had been a bow and arrow only a few feet away from her platform. She had grabbed that, along with the first bag she saw and ran. Though during the countdown, she watched as her fellow tributes hungrily eyed others, waiting eagerly until the games began to dig their weapons into each other's hearts.

Albert, her district partner, had a crazy lust in his eyes as he watched the handsome boy from District One intently. Now, he was probably dead, his eyes expressionless and glossy. Nerida wouldn't miss him. He was never anything but mean to her anyway.

The towering buildings of the city that surrounded the cornucopia were beginning to grow shorter and sparser. In the distance, an endless field of grass loomed, and beyond that, a few towns. There was a red building a few hundred yards away. Nerida decided she would stop there and rest before continuing on. She was growing tired and thirsty. Hopefully, her bag had some water in it.

Within minutes, she reached the red house. However, upon closer inspection, she realized it was not a house, but rather a barn. There were no animals or crops though, only fields of knee-length green grass surrounding it for what seemed like miles.

Huffing, Nerida dropped her backpack onto the ground and took a seat on the grassy ground just outside the barn. The air was thick and humid, just like it was in the summertime back in Four.

"Now, what's in here?" She asked no one but herself, zipping open the pale blue bag by her feet. To her dismay, nothing useful. There was a spool of rope, an empty canteen of water, and a folded piece of paper.

Reaching into the bag, she retrieved the piece of paper. Unfolding it, it revealed a map of Panem like the ones all the teachers hung on their walls in school. It had all the districts, and in the middle, the shimmering buildings of the capitol that reflected the ones she had seen in the cornucopia, yet she didn't think much of it.

She groaned and crumpled the map into a ball. _Useless! Completely useless! Why would they give her a map that she had seen a thousand times? She didn't need a geography lesson, she needed food and water! But of course, she had none of that!_

Nerida hurled the crumpled map towards the barn. It hit the outside wall with a smack and fell to the ground, disappearing into the long grass.

She felt hopeless. She had no allies, no supplies, and was probably going to starve out here all by herself.

Laying down in the long grass, the only thing she felt like she could do now was to give up.

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District 1 Male._

There was only silence as he and Alaric sifted through the supply crates in the mouth of the cornucopia. He was normally a pretty talkative guy, but now, he felt as if there was nothing more to say. Conversation was only a formality if he were to use it; everything he could talk about was intuitive, a waste of energy since one could see it with their own eyes if they really wanted to know: the bloody and chopped up body of Lena lying lifeless in a grave of shimmering red blood, the glossy eyes of the once pretty Kaeleah staring at nothing but the placid blue sky, the eerie silence following the eight cannons that signaling the bloodbath had ceased, the sour stench of blood lingering like a faded stain on an old carpet. His senses told him all he needed to know, and there was nothing to debate about. What had happened, happened. There was no use trying to change the past or dwell on it.

He stuffed supplies into his monstrous olive-green bag. First, a box of matches to light a fire in case the night got cold, second a full canteen of water, third a box of dry tuna chips, after a raincoat to keep him dry, then a black sleeping bag the color of a clear and starless night sky. Last, he threw in a flashlight with extra batteries so they could hunt for tributes past sunset.

Alaric was doing the same. Eris glanced over at him, narrowing his eyes. He no longer blindly trusted his ally like he had before discovering Alaric harbored Lena's secret; however, there was a silent and mutual understanding that the two still needed each other. With big threats still lingering in the arena, they'd be safer if they stuck together.

During the whole Lena mess, he hadn't seen Albert sneak away. _He was a little rat, that's what he was._ He should have stayed and died like a man, his honor intact. Eris wouldn't have backed away from a fight, even if he was on the losing side. _Albert was a snake, a venomous, no good, conniving snake._ Snakes didn't deserve good deaths. When he saw him next, he'd make sure his demise would be painful and hard.

Zipping up his bag, Eris stood to his feet. Alaric was already outside, watching as the hovercrafts lifted the seven dead bodies off of the ground and into the air. Puddles of shimmering blood still lingered, reminders of the dead. Eris knew the Capitol wouldn't be taking those away.

Alaric watched with peaked interest as Lena's body was lifted into the sky. Eris swore he saw him smile.

"Glad I won't have to babysit you anymore," he waved to her chopped body. "You were a very bad kid, never listening to any of my rules. Maybe you'd still be alive if you had."

Eris snorted, catching up with Alaric. "Ready to go? I want to find that rat Albert before he gets too far away."

Alaric laughed. "Oh, I don't think he'll be getting very far. When I saw him leaving he was crawling on his hands and knees, a trail of blood dripping behind him. I think he'll be easy to track if w—"

"You saw him leave? And you didn't say anything?" Eris roared angrily, gripping his sword tightly. "How could you have let my enemy escape?"

"You had your hands full with Lena," Alaric shrugged, his response calm and collected. "I didn't want to disrupt you."

Eris huffed in annoyance, rolling his brown eyes at his ally. _Yep, he didn't trust him for one second_. "Well next time, tell me. Okay?"

"Okay boss," Alaric chuckled like he thought this was some kind of joke. But to Eris, this wasn't a joke. This was life or death.

Alaric then extended his finger to his right, where a red drizzle coated the pavement. It was Albert's blood trail.

"There it is," he continued, beginning to walk towards it. "Ready to get your revenge?"

"Ready as ever," Eris replied, a smile creeping onto his face.

They began to follow the trail, the only thing in Eris' mind revenge. He completely forgot that the cornucopia still stocked full of supplies was unguarded, ready for some smart tribute to swoop in and take whatever their little hearts pleased.

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

She had always been considered patient, even when she was a little girl. With a younger sister around, she couldn't be anything but patient. Whenever she wanted to eat dinner or go outside or really do anything, her mother would always tell her that she had to wait for her sister.

 _Can I go to the park?_

 _Wait until your sister gets up from her nap,_ her mother would reply.

 _Can I eat?_

 _Wait until the rest of us sit down_ , her mother would reply.

After being told to wait enough times, it began to come naturally to Sereina. When she worked with her aunt trapping mice back in Three, she had to be patient since the traps never instantly caught the mice, but rather, caught them over a series of hours or days.

She never thought her patience would be useful in the games.

Sereina knew she was weak. There was no denying that. If she had run into the bloodbath, she would have been shot in the head or had her throat slit by one of the revenge-seeking careers. Some had slipped out alive, yes, but she had a target on her back from her seven in training. All she had done was build a human-size mousetrap. Honestly, she was surprised the gamemakers had awarded her such a high score. She hadn't been expecting them to, as she hadn't even gone within a five-foot radius of a weapon. Apparently, their grade wasn't on based solely on weaponry, for if it was, she would have gotten a big fat zero.

However, she also knew that she wouldn't be able to survive long in the arena without supplies. So, during the bloodbath, she dove into a bush in front of one of the massive buildings lining the square, hoping to wait the bloodbath out. Thankfully, no one had seen her, and her plan had worked. The last two careers had just left, leaving the cornucopia full and unguarded.

Stepping out of the bush, she couldn't contain her smile. She had outsmarted the careers, and would now have all the supplies she could ever dream of.

This year, Christmas came five months early.

* * *

 _Draven Sinveil, 18, District 9 Male._

Never before had he realized how amazing it felt to hurt others. To inflict the pain you carried around like a hundred-pound weight on your shoulders on around others—well, it was indescribable.

Killing the young boy from District Eleven had released all the pain, all the suffering, and all the baggage he had built up over the last eighteen years of his life. Making someone else feel his pain had been freeing. However, the pain hadn't disappeared entirely. Some weight still lingered like the last flickers of light during sunset, clinging desperately onto his back and his broken mind. And he wanted it all to go away, all of it. Every last drop of pain.

He knew the only way to do that was to kill another tribute, and if that's what it took to free him of his pain, he'd do it.

A trail of blood lined the pavement beneath his feet. He bent down, running his fingers through the thick red liquid. The blood was fresh, meaning whoever's blood it belonged to was still nearby. It was only a matter of which direction they had run in. _Towards the cornucopia, or away?_

He decided towards the cornucopia. Even if the tribute he was tracking hadn't headed this direction, they had to have been running away from something. Hopefully, it was another tribute. So he started back towards the cornucopia, following the trail of red blood.

For the first five minutes, he didn't see anything but tall buildings and grey concrete. The city was as still as a statue, silent and unmoving.

Then, he saw something in the distance. A few hundred yards away two other figures walked along the trail of blood, chatting amongst themselves. Draven smiled, ducking behind one of the massive buildings. He'd surprise whoever it was, and the pain would go away. He'd finally be free from his past that had haunted him for years, and everything would be good again. There would be no pain—no suffering. He'd be at peace.

"I'm surprised by how far Albert got," one of the boys pointed out. "He was one blow away from dying, I didn't think he'd be able to cover this much ground in this short of time."

"Some people just surprise you," the other chuckled.

The first one snorted. "So funny. I guess after Lena, I should learn my lesson. She was one crazy girl. How did you deal with her for so long?"

"I didn't," the second joked. "If you hadn't killed her there, I don't know how much longer I would have survived trying to keep her in check. I think I would have died in annoyance, or she would have had one of her outbursts and killed me first. I guess we'll never know."

The first snickered. "I guess you're right."

The two boys had past Draven's hiding place, continuing to walk along the trail of blood. This was his chance.

Draven leaped out of his hiding place, sprinting towards the two boys. One of them heard his footsteps, but it was too late. Draven had already sprung into the air, his massive body colliding with the blonde boy's, whom he decided was probably from One judging by his hair color alone. The sheer force of Draven's body caused to two of them to fall to the ground with a loud smack. Next to them, the boy's sword clattered to the bloody ground.

The boy from One let out a short scream of surprise, reaching for his sword. However, it was too far away, and his effort was to no avail.

Draven clasped his hands over the boy's neck, holding him in a chokehold. The boy was quick to react though, giving Draven a hard punch to the nose. He growled, his hands not wavering from their hold on Eris' neck. The pain the blonde boy just inflicted only strengthened him, and he felt a burst of energy soar through his body.

Then, something sharp plunged into his back, and Draven screamed in pain. His suffering wasn't going away, it was only getting worse. Draven released his grip and let his body go limp.

Everything hurt. His nose, his back, his hands, his heart. No part of him was spared from the pain as his vision began to fade to a sea of dark. The last thing he saw before complete black as his uncle's smiling face.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so first of all, I think an apology is in order. I was unnecessarily rude to Lena's submitter in her eulogy last chapter, and I'd just like to say I'm sorry for whatever I said. I was just angry she was a re-submission and the submitter didn't tell me, but even so, that shouldn't have been an excuse for how I acted.**

 **Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter, and I know it had a lot less action then the last one, but I needed to visit some characters we hadn't seen yet during the games. I think the only one who hasn't really been featured is Velicity, but I've already written her POV for the next chapter, so we'll see her next time for sure.**

 **Questions: Who do you want to see next chapter? Who do you think will die next?**

 **16th: Draven Sinveil, District 9 Male. Stabbed by Alaric.**

 **Draven was a good character, but I never really loved writing him. He was supposed to be a villian, but I tried to make him more grey in the sense of his morals and actions because there were already two/three villains in the story, and I didn't really see a need for more. He also didn't fit in any plotlines I had for the story, and I couldn't really find a way to arc him. I think this was the best time for him to go, since if he made it any further, I think he'd be hard to take down. Nonetheless, he was a good submission and I was happy to have him. Thank you NamelessGhoul for Draven, and I hope you were okay with the way he was portrayed.**

 **Alliances:**

 **What's left of em': Eris, Alaric**

 **Puppeteer and her Puppets: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Tree Huggers Plus One Minus One: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **99% Selfless: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Loners: Sereina, Gadget and Gizmo, Nerida, Albert, Velicity, Arilli**

 **Next up is Night 1!**


	32. Night 1: Friends and Enemies

_Night 1: Friends and Enemies_

* * *

 _Velicity Peach, 14, District 11 Female._

Dusk was falling on the forest she was currently walking through. Behind the endless rows of pine trees, the sun was setting, the large orange ball slowly disappearing behind the horizon line. The sky was stained a bright shade of red. The red slowly faded to a purplish hue as Velicity's eyes made their way towards the top of the sky, where the pinnacle of the sky had already turned to a rich black.

Around her, flecks of light danced. _Lightning bugs_ , her father had called them when he was still alive. They used to go outside when night was falling and trap them in tiny glass jars. Then, she would watch them for hours until she fell asleep.

Then, she swore she heard her father scream. It was a low-pitched yell, and it sounded like he was in pain. Velicity grumbled, banging her hand against the temple of her forehead. The damned voices were back, and she knew they wouldn't be leaving soon.

"Leave me alone father," she growled.

Then, she heard the scream again. This time, it was louder and rung around and around in her ears. "Get out of my head!" She screeched, clasping her hands over her ears. She didn't need this now. She was supposed to be focused on surviving, but instead, she was going to have to deal with her wild imagination.

She looked up, trying to find something to distract herself from the screeches flooding her ears. On a small branch, about ten or fifteen feet above her head, a black feathered bird sat. It had a white crested chest, and its beady eyes seemed to stare right into her soul.

For a second, the scream was gone. Then, the bird opened its mouth and her father's terrified scream came ringing back into her ears again. _Was it the bird making that noise, or was it actually just her imagination this time?_

"Go away," she growled at the bird. Staring into its beady black eyes, she challenged it. Her death stare normally scared many away, perhaps it would work for the bird too.

But her plan was to no avail. The bird only opened its mouth again, and the scream came rushing back.

Velicity shuttered. The scream felt so real, like the ghost of her father was here in front of her. It wasn't like the screams she had heard in her head for so long, the ones that she had vague memories of from the day they had been executed in the square when she was merely a child. It seemed more real, almost as if it was recorded.

"I told you to get the hell away from me! Do you want me to die, father? Die just like you, at the hands of the merciless capitol? This isn't what you want for your daughter, is it?"

She felt something whoosh feet above her head. She glanced upwards, spotting another bird, sporting the same colors as the first. It perched itself on the branch right next to the other and opened its mouth. This time, she heard her mother's painful scream.

Velicity began to shake violently. Then another bird flew over her head, followed by another. They all landed on the wooden branch, following the first's lead. Soon, there were upwards of twenty all staring at her with big beady eyes. Then, they opened their mouths and screams flooded out.

Her father. Her mother. Mila. Rosa. Everyone she knew, everyone she ever cared about. Their voices were no longer figments of her imagination. Now, they were real. Her nightmares were no longer dreams, but rather, realities.

Her clamped her hands over her ears, trying desperately to block out the voices. "Stop, please!" She pleaded. "Please, stop! Stop! Please! Please!"

Her head was ringing, her body was shaking. She couldn't think straight. All she could hear were the screams; all she could see were her parents', Mila's, and Rosa's lifeless bodies covered with blood, so much so that she could see nothing but crimson.

Then, she ran. She needed to get out of here; she needed to get to a place where she could clear her mind and run away from her troubling past. She had thought her nightmares would have stayed in District Eleven, but all they ended up doing was following her everywhere she went. To the capitol. Into the arena.

The birds followed her out of the forest. They flocked inches above her head, swarming around her body like bees to their nest. They continued to shriek, and Velicity still could hear nothing else but her loved ones' screams.

It was now almost dark. The last flickers of light were beginning to disappear from the now black sky dotted with glimmering stars. The sun had completely vanished behind the horizon line, and a silver moon loomed where it once was.

The forest was beginning to melt away and was replaced by the glittering buildings once again. It occurred to her she was heading back to the cornucopia, but she didn't care. As long as she got away from the screams, she'd be content.

The birds continued to swarm around her. She began to whimper. Her head throbbed wildly and it felt as though it was beginning banged repeatedly against hard cement.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the blonde hair of the boy from One and the ghostly face of the boy from Two. They seemed to be looking for someone, or something. They didn't see her at first, and Velicity had time to duck out of sight. Yet, she didn't. She just continued to run, not caring about them or what they would do to her if they saw her.

The birds still fluttered above her head, and screams still rang in her ears. One of the boys saw her and began to point. The other grabbed a knife out of his bag and aimed it at Velicity. It soared through the air, and Velicity just watched it as it flew towards it. She could have moved; there was time. However, she didn't. She just stared at the knife spiraling towards her with troubled eyes.

It hit her just under her collarbone. She didn't even feel it enter—it was painless. Her body went limp, and she slumped to the ground.

Then, the birds vanished. The screams left her ears, and her head no longer felt like it was being smacked against concrete. As her world turned to black, she felt the ends of her lips curl into a smile. She had gotten away from the birds, from the screams, from the past she had tried so hard to forget. Her mind was empty, and her thoughts were nonexistent.

Velicity was finally at peace.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

A cannon sounded.

Arilli jumped to her feet, startled. She gripped the knife tightly her in hand, her breathing shallow and quick. Her eyes darted around in the dark night. _It was just the cannon_ , she thought to herself, trying to get her shaking body to relax. It worked somewhat, yet not entirely.

She was positioned behind a large grey building with a large 8 graffitied onto the wall. Its windows were broken, and it looked like it needed repair. Others buildings were scattered about the area, all of which possessed the same run-down look as the one she was hiding behind. They looked almost like factories, yet Arilli couldn't be sure. She'd never seen an actual factory, just pictures of them in books and movies.

Despite her sheltered position, Arilli still felt exposed and vulnerable. After spending years of her life walled up in her dark room, she really felt unsafe anywhere else. _Could there be someone lurking just beyond her line of sight, hiding in the dark? Was someone just feet away, weapon in hand?_

 _No, don't be silly._ She was just being neurotic, nothing else. There was no one lurking through the night, wanting to kill her. She had run far enough away from the cornucopia that there wouldn't be any other tributes for hundreds of yards around her. She was safe.

Arilli placed the knife back in her bag and took out a small blanket. At the bloodbath earlier that day, she had grabbed a single red bag. It was pretty large and contained the knife she had just been holding, a fleece blanket, some bandages, and a fully filled water bottle. She had hoped for food, but unfortunately, there was none.

The capitol anthem rang through her ears, and Arilli found her mind drifting to Cinder. A part of her hoped he was safe, yet a part of her also hoped he had died. For those few moments on the train, he had shown her kindness. He had played chess with her and sat with her during lunches so she wouldn't have to sit alone. No one else had ever done that; no one ever showed the girl with the scarred face a single moment of consideration.

She should have probably thanked him for that before they left. However, Cinder had also abandoned her. _They_ were supposed to be allies, and _they_ were supposed to spend their last few days together in peace. It was supposed to be _her_ and Cinder, not _Lux_ and Cinder. It had turned out he wasn't as loyal as he had seemed, and whatever kindness he had shown her was temporary. He obviously liked Lux better, and if he had preferred her, he would have been her ally and not Lux's. After all, in what story did the ugly shy girl get the guy?

After the anthem had stopped, the pretty face of the girl from One lit up the sky. Arilli was shocked. Ten cannons had gone off that day, but she didn't think any of them would have belonged to a trained tribute. They usually lasted until at least the final ten in the two years they had been in the games. They never died on the first day.

The next face surprised her even more. It was the frightening girl from Two who had sent chills through Arilli every time she had even looked her way. Arilli thought the girl would have won, but no. She was dead on the first day, her body probably being examined in some hovercraft that was flying back to the capitol. Arilli couldn't help but wonder what had happened during the bloodbath. She had left too early to see anyone other than the young boy from Seven die.

No tributes from Districts Three, Four, Five or Six died. That meant Lux was alive. Arilli felt a ball of hatred build up in her stomach. _How could that friend stealer be living while ten others, most of whom probably had never done anything bad in their lives, had died?_ It seemed unfair.

Tristan was next, though Arilli already knew he was dead. After was the boy from Eight. Then the faces of the pairs from Nine, Ten, and Eleven all graced the sky. This again surprised her. The pair from Ten had looked strong during training, and they died? _What happened?_

Basil's face was the last one before the sky returned to black. Arilli found herself practically jumping for joy.

Cinder wasn't dead. _Cinder wasn't dead!_ The ends of Arilli's lips curved into a smile, but she instantly stopped herself. _He abandoned her, he traded her for Lux like she was nothing but trash_. _Don't be happy, you mean nothing to him. He probably doesn't even care that you are still alive. He'll probably kill you if he sees you. Why do you care so much that he is still alive?_

She didn't know. Yet, she couldn't hide her happiness. There was still a chance that her lone friend was out there, elated that she was still alive too.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District 12 Male._

Basil's smiling face was the last he saw before the sky faded to a deep black, the color of coal and dust. Cinder felt his lips curve into a grin.

"What are you so happy about?" Lux interrogated, shining a bright flashlight directly in his face. Cinder squinted his face into a ball and shrunk back, away from the blinding light.

"Arilli is alive!" He cheered, practically jumping up and down. "Isn't that great? She survived the first day! I'm so proud of her!"

Lux rolled her eyes, reclining back against a palm tree she had been leaning against moments before. Nearby, the soothing crashing of waves could be heard, and Cinder wriggled his toes in the soft sand. Jaxs was laying down on their only sleeping bag, watching the stars with a blank expression. They had taken shelter on a beach for the night, right beside a giant four that was carved into the sand. Cinder had asked Lux what it was earlier, and Lux had told him to shut up. He didn't think much of it though, she was probably just cranky from her lack of sleep last night. He had trouble sleeping the night before the games, so he assumed she too had slept very little.

"She's your competitor, not your ally Cinder," Lux scoffed. "Her being dead brings us one step closer to winning. You shouldn't be celebrating her surviving, you should be hoping that she dies!"

"But—" Cinder protested, his smile fading. "She's my friend! How could I want her dead?"

Lux huffed in frustration. "She's not our ally Cinder, and she doesn't care about you. She probably is thinking at this very moment how much she wished you were dead. There are no friends in the games. Only one of us can make it out alive, and if it comes down to it, a friend will choose their survival over yours. She'll kill you if she gets the chance, and you better be willing to kill her too."

"I—I—" Cinder stuttered, his smile completely gone.

"Do I need to test your loyalty to me again?" Lux questioned sharply.

"No, no!" Cinder exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He was still trying to put killing Abrielle behind him, he didn't want to have to kill someone else for Lux. That was one thing he thought was a little odd about her, but he didn't think much of it. "I'm still loyal to you Lux, you're my friend too!"

She sighed, standing to her feet. "Good. I just want what's best for you Cinder. I only want you to know that Arilli wants you dead, so if it comes down to it, you either have to kill her or be killed by her. But it's your choice to make, I don't want to force you into doing anything you don't want to do."

Cinder didn't agree with Lux completely on that, friends didn't kill other friends, even in the games. _Arilli wouldn't kill him, right?_ No, she wouldn't. Lux was wrong, but he didn't say anything about it to her. He didn't need to pick a fight right now.

"Jaxs, get up," Lux ordered. Jaxs did as he told, diligently taking his commander's instructions like a loyal soldier. He stood in place, looking to her like a puppy dog would to his owner for his next command.

"Off the sleeping bag, you dummy!" She exclaimed. He quickly leaped into the air, off of the blue sleeping bag. Lux smiled, bending down and climbing in.

"Get me a pillow Cinder."

Cinder nodded his head, reaching into one of their many packs and grabbing her a pillow. She smiled, taking it from him and placing it down on the soft sand.

"Jaxs, take first watch. Kill anyone you see. Wake Cinder at midnight, and he'll take the second watch. Same thing, kill anyone you see. Wake me up at dawn, then we can go tribute hunting again."

Cinder and Jaxs nodded their heads simultaneously, however, Jaxs looked a bit confused.

"Why don't you have to take a watch?" He asked. Lux growled, glaring at him with angry eyes.

"I told you, I know what I'm doing. I'm the brains of this alliance after all, so I need to sleep the most so my mind can be fully refreshed and awake the next day. That way I can lead us to victory! That's also why I need the sleeping bag because, without it, I won't be able to sleep well."

Jaxs still looked confused. "But what about us? Don't we need good night sleep's as well?"

Cinder thought Jaxs brought up a good point. They needed to sleep well too if they were going to make it to the end. Allies and friends didn't hog all the supplies, they shared with each other.

Lux huffed, rubbing her hand against the grainy sand. "The sand is soft enough, you'll sleep well, I promise. That's why I picked this place, duh. I'm the smart one, remember?"

Jaxs still didn't look happy, yet he didn't protest again. However, this didn't seem fair to Cinder that Lux got the sleeping bag for the entire night and didn't have to keep watch. Friends shared; they didn't keep everything for themselves.

"How about we take turns using the sleeping bag? Lux can use it tonight, then you can use it tomorrow, and I'll use it the night after that," Cinder suggested.

Lux closed her eyes, grumbling something to herself. "Did I ask you for your opinion?"

"No," Cinder murmured shyly.

"Good. As the head and brains of this alliance, I'll get the sleeping bag every night."

Cinder's eyelids began to droop, and he didn't see any use in arguing with Lux anymore. After all, she knew what was right for them, and they should just take her advice. Arguing was only a waste of energy.

Yet, sometimes it did feel like Lux only cared about herself. After all, only one person could make it out of these games alive, and he knew Lux would do anything to make sure it was her, even lie to Cinder and Jaxs.

Instantly, he felt guilty for even thinking that. _No, she was their ally. Allies protected each other. Right?_

That night, he didn't sleep well like Lux promised he would.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" He asked, looking up at the star-filled sky.

Celeste didn't respond, rolling over onto her side. For the night, they had camped in a grassy meadow just beside an orange orchard. For dinner, they had eaten the oranges, and their bellies were full. That was one thing they had going for them. They were full, at least.

However, even full bellies couldn't bring back Tristan. Celeste had been devastated when she saw him die, and even more so when his smiling face illuminated the night sky a few hours ago. He was upset too—his plan was the reason Tristan was dead, but he didn't know him like Celeste had. To her, he had been like a younger brother, and to say losing him was hard on her was an understatement.

"Celeste, just look at the moon. It's pretty, and you like nature, right? Maybe it'll take your mind off—"

"Don't even say his name," she snapped. "And every time I look at the sky, I only see his smiling face, a face that thought I was going to keep him safe and bring him home. But you know what? I didn't keep him safe or bring him home. He died because of me, because he thought I could protect him. But I can't even protect myself."

Raleigh sighed, leaning back into the soft grass. "Okay, want to hear a joke then?" He asked, trying to cheer her up. She shook her head back and forth in response.

"Can a kangaroo jump higher than a house?"

Only silence. Celeste lay in the long grass, her eyes shut tight.

"No, because a house can't jump at all!"

Still nothing. Raleigh didn't even laugh.

"Okay, well—that wasn't a funny one! I have more, lots more! Just let me think of them, I'll uh—"

Celeste huffed, sitting up. Through the dark, Raleigh could see her crusty green eyes dried from crying and a frown that seemed to now be permanently plastered on her face.

Her tone was bitter when she spoke. "Jokes can't bring Tristan back, so don't even try. He's dead—all because of me! If only I didn't let him go along with that stupid plan then maybe he would have lived. It's all my fault."

Raleigh blinked at her. She had been this way all day—complaining about how Tristan's death was her fault. It wasn't—he had tried to explain that to her earlier—but she hadn't listened. It was Tristan's choice to go into the cornucopia and Tristan's choice alone. He knew what he was doing, and he didn't need anyone to protect him. However, Celeste hadn't listened and had gone on and on about what if this, what if that. There were no what if's in the games though. In order to win, one needed to possess confidence and not second-guess themselves.

"You know what Celeste," Raleigh replied, matching her bitter tone. "I'm done listening to you complain, and I'm done listening to you feel sorry for yourself. Tristan died, but we need to move on. So what if it was your fault? He doesn't care, he's dead anyway. And there will always have been other things you could have done, but you can't dwell too long on the past. If you do you'll get stuck in it, and then you'll be no better than dead. Do you want to join Tristan? Because at this rate, you aren't surviving much longer then he did."

Celeste blinked at him, stunned. Raleigh had never lashed out like that before—he was normally collected and calm. However, at this point, he was tired from his lack of sleep, cranky and moody, and he lacked the patience to listen to Celeste whine again.

She began to bawl. Raleigh inched closer to her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. To his surprise, she didn't push him away, and his hug only made her cry harder. Soon, his sleeve was wet with her salty tears.

"It's okay, we all make mistakes," he whispered to her. "It's just what we learn from them."

However, Raleigh had trouble taking his own advice. His reckless plan that got Tristan killed was his fault, and he had another one, just as careless, brewing in his mind. It would take out big targets, but in the process, it could get them killed.

However, he knew if they were to win the games, they had to take risks. They couldn't second-guess themselves, and they couldn't ask themselves what ifs when it was all over. They needed to be confident.

If they weren't they'd be as good as dead.

* * *

 _Albert Quarius, 15, District 4 Male._

He crawled along the hard pavement, barely moving. His entire body was covered in wounds bursting with crimson blood, which had turned brown over time. Most of them had stopped bleeding a while ago and had clotted, meaning his trail of blood had ended a while back, closer to the cornucopia. That was good. It would be harder for that moronic landlubber Eris to find him that way.

Everything hurt. Albert had thought multiple times about just giving up and letting himself die, yet he wasn't going to give Eris the satisfaction of winning. He'd rather spend a painful eternity hovering on the brink of life and death than give Eris what he craved most: his revenge.

So, he kept crawling through the pain, because if he was anything, he was not a pushover. His determination was perhaps his only redeeming quality; he never gave up, even when he was reduced to nothing but a sad crawling mess.

Two voices chatted in this distance. Albert hissed and kept pushing through the discomfort. _He wasn't going to let Eris find him. He wasn't going to let a landlubber beat him._ A pirate always won.

He was almost out of the city, and the bright artificial light streaming from the lamps lining the city streets and the windows in buildings high above were getting dimmer. Only a few more minutes and he'd be shrouded in darkness, veiled by the natural cover the night brought with it.

The voices were getting closer. "I. Won't. Let. Him. Win," Albert gritted his clenched teeth, clawing and scraping his way forward. He still didn't make up much ground; another minute passed and he was only a few feet closer to his destination.

A warm light flooded his back. Albert growled and kept pushing his way forwards, trying to pretend as if they hadn't seen him. But they had. He knew that they were pointing a flashlight right in his direction, smiling because they had finally caught their prey.

"Oh, look at who it is," Eris chortled from behind him. He felt a boot press down on his back, and his hands gave out beneath him. Albert's knees buckled and his chest slammed against the hard concrete. He let out an enraged scream and weakly lifted his head up to face Eris. The boy slammed it down, his already bruised chin colliding with the firm earth.

"You're not getting away this time, rat," Eris hissed, pressing his foot down harder. "But I'm surprised at how far you got. You must have been pretty determined not to let me win. But I guess your efforts were to no avail, huh?"

Albert growled. "You still haven't killed me, so you haven't won yet. And you will never kill me, I'll do anything to make sure a pathetic landlubber like you doesn't get what he wants because I am the only person who gets what I want! I always get what I want, and I want you dead, so you'll die!" He roared angrily.

Eris and Alaric only laughed.

"It's not funny, you morons! I'm going to kill you! I'm going to get my revenge if it's the last thing I do!" Albert howled.

Alaric raised an eyebrow, grinning like a madman. "Eris, how about we give the boy what he wants?"

Eris nodded his head, raising his foot from Albert's back. "I think that's a great idea Alaric," he replied slyly.

Eris stepped over Albert, stopping a few feet in front of him. He gave his sword to Alaric, then turned around, a giant grin plastered on his face.

"If you really want to kill me, Albert, then kill me," Eris screamed, motioning his hands towards himself. "Hit me, make me scream in pain! If you want your revenge so desperately, then come and get it!"

Albert grinned. _He couldn't believe Eris was actually giving the chance to get his revenge on him! This was amazing, he'd stand up, punch Eris in the nose just like he had back in the Capitol. He'd hit him over and over again, and make him beg for mercy before he slit the landlubber's throat. He couldn't contain his excitement._

Albert roared, trying to leap to his feet and charge at Eris. However, he was too weak to even stand. Every time he made it to his feet, his wounded body would come crashing back down to the earth in a heap of exhaustion. Everything felt like it was on fire.

"Come on, come at me!" Eris bellowed. "Come on, you coward! Take a swing at me!"

Albert tried again, but his body only fell back down. Alaric burst out into a fit of laughter. Albert had never felt so weak, so helpless. He tried and tried again, but he never got more than a step in before falling.

"You're pathetic," Eris spat, taking a step towards Albert after his sixth or seventh attempt. "You want to kill me, but can't even stand up."

"Shut up, yo—" Albert shouted, yet was cut off by a swift kick to the nose.

His body flew backward, skidding across the pavement. Albert let out a cry of pain as his wounds were reopened and fresh blood poured out. Lifting a hand to his nose, he realized it was bent at an awkward angle. _Eris had broken his nose!_ His nostrils began to flare with anger.

"No, you shut up, you pathetic mess," Eris hissed. "Ever heard of an eye for an eye?"

Albert didn't respond, too weak to even protest.

"Probably not, your weird pirate laws are all skewed towards unfairness. An eye for an eye means when someone hurts you, you hurt them back. When someone takes your eye, you take theirs. You broke my nose, so now I broke your's."

Albert growled, not wanting to hear Eris talk anymore. He was annoying him.

"Are you going to kill me already? Your laws about justice and equality are boring me to death," Albert spat with all the energy he had left.

Eris chuckled. "If you are so eager, then sure. Alaric, what do you suggest? Torture for the rat, or a quick death?"

Alaric grinned. "I think we should just let the little pirate bleed out. That way he can think about how badly he failed at his revenge."

Eris nodded his head. "I think that's a good idea. What do you think, Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious ever to roam the seven seas and worst tribute to ever play the Hunger Games?"

 _It was Albert Quarius, son of the most ruthless and notorious pirate ever to roam the seven seas!_ Albert mumbled his response, too weak to reply. They were mocking him, but he didn't even care. He only felt pain and didn't have the energy to think about anything else.

"I think that was a yes," Alaric grinned.

Eris laughed. "Revenge is sweet, isn't it Albert? Oh wait, you wouldn't know! My bad!"

They left Albert in a pool of his own crimson blood, shimmering in the bright city lights. A fitting grave for a pirate; it gleamed brighter than even the shiniest gold.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you all enjoyed that chapter! I think it was a bit more exciting then the last one, and its only going to get more action packed from here! I'm super excited to show you all what I have planned for the next few days as the games continue to progress.**

 **Oh, and since I haven't done a sponsor system for this story, I'll just let you guys sponsor a tribute if you'd really like. Nothing crazy of course, but if you want to give a tribute one weapon or a package of food or some bandages, you can. Just PM me who you want to sponsor and what you'd like to give them. If it's too much, I'll only give them one or two of the things you requested.**

 **Questions: Who do you want to see next? Who is your favorite tribute still left? Least favorite?**

 **15th: Velicity Peach, District 11 Female. Killed by Eris/Tortured by Jabber-jays.**

 **Velicity was a good tribute, and I liked the mental conflict that she had inside herself. She was a rebel but a conflicted one, and I really don't think she wanted to follow in the path her parents lay out for her. So she wasn't really a rebel herself, but more had rebel ties. Still, being tortured by the mockingjays was a bad way to go out, and I didn't really see any of the rebels (even Velicity) getting easy deaths. There was nothing wrong with her, but like Draven, I didn't see her involved in any of the plots I have going on. She was very unfriendly and the only tribute she interacted with was Basil, but he's dead now and I just can't really see me doing anything really interesting with her. I hope I did okay portraying her Bookieworm04, but with some other things I have planned, I think this was her time to go. Thanks for submitting her, she was pretty cool.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Revenge is Sweet: Eris, Alaric**

 **The Queen and Her Minions: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**

 **(Tree) Huggers: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **99% Selfless: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Loners: Sereina, Gadget and Gizmo, Albert, Nerida, Arilli**


	33. Day 2: Sparks Fly

_Day 2: Sparks Fly_

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18, District 8 Female._

She dreamt of home that night. She was a little girl, no less than four or five. It was a year or so before the rebellion began, and she and her family were sitting in the living room of their small house, all laughing and smiling. Her father was still alive, and her mother was able to use both her legs without the aid of a crutch. Outside, silver stars flickered in the night sky. No bombs fell, and the Capitol had yet to ruin everything. In that moment, everything was a perfect bliss.

They all sat around a stone fireplace. The room was cold, and her mother was placing wooden logs in the fireplace. Grace was resting her head on her father's arm, and he was stroking her short blonde hair affectionately.

Then, her mother reached for a match and struck it. It blazed to life, a beautiful golden flame. Grace's mother threw it onto the wood log and a warm fire erupted. She was no longer cold.

She heard her mother laugh, and she followed along with her. Everything was as it should be, her family was whole, and so was her heart.

The room began to heat up. Grace felt her lips curve into an elated smile, and she curled up to her father's side, smuggling up against his chest.

But something wasn't right. The room was getting hotter and hotter, so much so that beads of sweat were beginning to run down her forehead. She felt like she was in an oven and was being cooked alive.

Then, she heard a scream. Quickly, she twisted her head to see her mother's body, which was currently aflame. Actually, the entire room was on fire. The raging flames had spread everywhere: to the floors, the walls, the chairs, the smiling pictures of her family hung on the walls. Black ash coated the floor.

"Grace!" A voice yelled. "Grace!"

She looked around the room to see who had called her name, but her entire family had turned to black dust. It was just her, and the flickering flames.

"Grace, get up!"

Grace's eyes jolted open, to reveal the worried face of her ally, Tesserae. Around them, large orange flames roared. The house behind them was on fire, and the porch they were nestled under was also aflame. Dark smoke hung in the air, causing Grace to break into a violent coughing fit.

"We need to go, now!" Tesserae yelped, tugging on Grace's arm. Grace scampered to her knees and began to crawl out from the porch, following closely behind Tesserae.

There was no doubt the fire had been directed at them. The night before, they had openly spoken out against the Capitol and their idiotic games. The fire was sent to punish them, to silence their rebellious voices. They couldn't have two rebels speaking out against them. It might spark another rebellion.

However, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. The capitol was going to need to do a better than a simple fire to break her. She had survived the rebellion, and if she could survive that, this would be a walk in the park. They should know better than to add fire to fire. That only made the flame bigger; it did nothing to quell it.

They made their way out from under the porch. Grace glanced around, yet couldn't see far. The backyard they stood in was coated with a thick layer of black smoke, and the house behind them was ablaze with vibrant orange flames. The grass below them was smoking, and soon, would probably be on fire too.

Then, a loud crashing sound echoed from behind them. Grace gasped as she saw the house collapse, sparks flying everywhere. Some landed on her skin, and she screamed in pain.

A piece of the roof fell their way. Grace let out another frightened shriek and ran out of the way just as the charred pieces of the roof fell in between her and Tesserae. Tesserae was trapped in the flames, her only path to safety blocked. However, Grace saw a way out of the smoke to her right.

Tesserae continued to let out whimpers of pain. Grace could no longer see her through the smoke, her view shrouded by the dark puffs.

"Run, get away from here Grace! I'll find my own way out, I'll be okay! Save yourself!" Tesserae called.

Grace nodded mutely and sprinted in the direction where the smoke wasn't coming from. Her skin burned wildly, so much so that her eyes were watering with silver tears of pain. Her throat was dry, and she could barely breathe. She was beginning to become lightheaded, and everything around her was spinning in circles.

The smoke refused to clear. She kept running, yet it seemed as if the fire was following her. It ripped through the grass, fast on her trail. She continued to run blindly, not knowing where she was headed. She hoped it was towards the water, though she had no idea.

Leaping over a fallen tree, Grace continued to run. She was beginning to grow weary and tired. How much longer she would make it, she didn't know.

Something burned her left calf. She let out another wail and looked down to see a giant burn about the size of her hand. It was oozing a yellowish pus, and she began to feel sick.

After about five or so minutes of running, the sky was beginning to clear. Her leg burned wildly, and she had slowed to a limp. The fire had stopped following her and ahead she could see blue sky. In the distance, a large body of water loomed behind another town and seemed to stretch on for infinity.

Then, she collapsed in the grass. Her lungs were dry, and her vision was blurry. Her leg hurt like nothing she had ever felt before. Her world began to fade to a crimson color, before finally reverting to a painless black.

* * *

 _Gadget and Gizmo McGhee, 14, District 3 Male._

"Hurry up Gadget!" Gizmo wailed as they navigated their way through the heavy smoke. Gizmo was taking the lead, while his slow brother was lagging behind, panting wildly. The orange flames were beginning to catch up to them and were practically nipping at their heels.

They could do it. They could make it out of this fire and go on to win the games. A blue sky loomed in front of them, Gizmo could see it with his own two eyes. It was so close, only a few hundred more feet of thick smoke and hot flames. If only his brother could move a little bit faster, then—

 _Crack!_ Gadget let out a scream. Gizmo glanced backward, his eyes widening. Behind them, a large building which looked oddly familiar was collapsing. The two of them were right in its path, and if they didn't move, they would be squished.

Gizmo lurched forwards, yet went nowhere. His brother was frozen in terror; he was as still as a statue. He tugged and tugged, yet his brother did not move.

"Gadget, please! Snap out of it, we need to go!" Gizmo pleaded, his voice hoarse from the smoke filling his lungs. "You need to move!"

Yet, his brother did not even budge. They were helpless as the building collapsed on top of his and Gadget's legs, flattening their already skinny bodies.

He felt his bones snap. Gadget let out a shriek of pain as the fiery wooden beams crushed his legs, causing him to fall flat to the ground.

The heat engulfed them. Their bodies collapsed onto the ground, limp as a thin sheet of paper. All Gizmo felt was searing pain—burning skin, crushed bones, the life flooding out of him with every short breath he took. His brother screeches deafened his ears.

He couldn't stop wailing. For what felt like minutes, he and his brother lay flat under the wooden beams as the fire burned their fragile skin and the heavy beams continued to crush their legs. Around them, black smoke swirled like a dark tornado.

"Help! Help! Someone, help!" Gizmo screeched, hoping someone—anyone—could hear him. His legs had gone numb, and he didn't dare look back at what little of his flesh was probably left.

"B—br—rother," Gadget replied weakly. "I—it's n—use. W—we're dying."

"No!" Gizmo shrieked, refusing to believe his brother's words. "We'll-we'll find a way out, I promise. We can't die, I refuse to believe it. I'll protect you Gadget, I'll make sure we survive. I promised."

Then, something caught his eye. Through the smoke, he saw a flicker of red hair, and a pair of wide green eyes stared into his own. _It was the girl from District Six, Tesserae._

"Save us! Please!" He called to the girl through the smoke, using what little energy he had left. He was in so much pain, he could no longer feel anything. He felt himself beginning to slip into an unconscious state but fought it off. _He wasn't going to die. He couldn't let Gadget die._

The girl nodded her head quickly, beginning to run towards them. However, when she was a mere yard away, something caught her eye. She looked up into the air, then looked back at him with wide and frightened eyes.

"Help," was all he had the energy to murmur to her. His vision was beginning to turn to black, and he instantly felt sleepy. It felt like he was dying. Beside him, Gadget stopped screaming and murmured softly to himself, hovering somewhere in the grey abyss between life and death.

He glanced back at Tesserae. Even as his vision began to cloud and the smoke thickened, he could see her vibrant red hair. She seemed to blaze brighter than the massive fire that swirled around him. Her large brown eyes were as murky as the smoke, filled with conflicted thoughts. She was scared—he could see that even with his distorted vision that saw very little else. But then again, they were all scared. Even those who pretended not to be—the green-eyed career with a vengeful glare, the young boy from Eleven who spent his entire training laughing, the red-haired girl with the murky brown eyes who claimed to be selfless but if she really was would have saved him already—were all frightened. The Capitolites were afraid of them, though they hid it behind their thick masks of makeup and plastic noses. Even he, who had believed he could escape the jaws of death, felt its grip tightening ever so slightly on his life. Maybe Gadget was right. Maybe they couldn't escape death because after all, it was their destiny.

Tesserae's face was pale as snow. He could hear a creaking noise above his head and imagined a fiery inferno looming inches above him. Tesserae inched backward reluctantly, looking with wide eyes at the collapsing building. A puddle of silver tears glistened on her cheeks, dotted with spots of black.

The smoke was growing thicker. Dark ashes the size of quarters fluttered through the air, landing on his face like white flurries during the first snowfall of the winter. They numbed his skin, sending a wave of stillness through his body.

He and Tesserae were at a stalemate. Both frozen—one in fear, the other in pain—neither moved. Then, through the murky haze, Gizmo saw her soft lips move.

 _I'm sorry_ , she mouthed before taking off in the opposite direction.

Then, she and the rest of the world disappeared, veiled behind a thick cloud of smoke and pain. Gizmo turned to see Gadget, but he too was gone. Gizmo was all alone in the darkness, and he realized that this was what he feared. His entire life, he'd been able to figure things out using logic. Two plus two equaled four, they couldn't jump very high because gravity existed. But death didn't follow the laws of logic. What was after death was unknown, and that was what scared him the most.

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

A cannon echoed in the distance, ringing in her ears. Sereina shuddered. There were thirteen left; twelve more would die before a victor was crowned. The odds still weren't in her favor, but at least now they had improved.

She had spent the previous night at the cornucopia, falling in and out of sleep. Despite the fact she knew no one would be returning to the cornucopia, she'd felt uneasy the whole night. Whatever was left of the careers had been packing up for good the day prior, taking with them sleeping bags and food for at least a few days. They wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. Then there were the other tributes, each of whom was probably too scared to venture back in fear they'd run into Eris and Alaric and meet their bloody ends. For all they knew the careers were still camped out at the cornucopia, swords were drawn and bows loaded. Going there was a death trap for them—or so they thought. That's what made it such a good hiding place for Sereina. Everyone was scared to return, except her.

However, as the minutes ticked on and the sun rose higher in the sky, the cornucopia grew more and more dangerous. It had been safe for a night but any more then that was a risk. Tributes could get desperate and make a risky move by coming back here, or they could get a whiff that the careers weren't in their normal camp and come back anyway, thinking that it was deserted. Then they'd find her here, and discover it wasn't.

That wouldn't be an issue though. Sereina had just finished packing up her supplies for the next week—three backpacks full of weapons she didn't know how to use, the food she'd be too nervous to eat, and parts to make a trap that would most likely catch no one. She didn't want it to after all; its purpose was to make her feel secure and safe. By building one, she'd at least be able to sleep sounder at night.

"Have everything?" She asked no one but herself, hoisting the stuffed backpacks onto her shoulders. At first, the sheer weight of the packs almost caused her to topple over onto her backside, but she only stumbled a bit before regaining her balance and heading out.

Today was hotter than the previous day had been, and beats of sweat rolled down her pale face. By the time she had reached the outskirts of the city square she regretted not packing sunblock, but for where she was going, she doubted it would be needed. Ideally, she'd find some sort of building to hide out in where there was little light. The darkness would hide her better, and make her feel safer in the one place where one should never feel safe: the games.

Thankfully, the city was just as deserted as the cornucopia had been. She walked through the empty streets in silence, the only sound the echoing of her footsteps against the hot pavement. But even those were almost silent, she tried her best to move as quietly as a mouse as she made her way through the winding city streets and finally out into the outskirts of the city.

After around fifteen or so minutes of walking, the paved road turned to dirt. She was no longer in the city—fields of long green grass surrounded her from all sides. They made her nervous. Someone could be lurking in them—waiting for the right moment to pounce. She gulped and lowered herself to the ground, instantly realizing that the flatness of the terrain did nothing to hide her.

She crawled through the long grass, looking up every few moments to see where she was headed. In the distance was a barn the color of a ripe strawberry; she decided she'd head there. It looked as deserted as the city had been, and hopefully, it would make a good hiding place for at least one night or two.

The packs on her back kept slipping off. She huffed in frustration, weakly heaving it back onto her shoulders for it only to slide off again. It was this way for a while: she'd crawl a few feet, the pack would slide off, she'd crawl a few more feet, and the pack would slide off again. She had never been good at balancing or carrying things and crawling while simultaneously carrying something was even harder.

When she was a few yards away from the barn, something caught her eye. She held her breath, instantly realizing what it was. In the dirt was the faint outline of a footstep. The barn hadn't been as deserted as she had thought it was. Someone was here.

Lying in the grass a few feet away from the footstep was a crumpled piece of paper. Sereina inched towards it, hoping that it would give her a clue to who was here—or rather, had been here. The best scenario it was her meek district partners. The worse scenario it was the careers, and these were her last few seconds on the face of this earth.

Her mind told her to run, to get as far away from this place as possible. However, her body wasn't listening, continuing to inch towards the paper. Her curiosity had taken over.

She lifted the crumpled paper off the ground, holding it in her hands. Quickly she unfolded it, hoping desperately it was a letter or note from the twins saying how they were in the barn and wouldn't hurt her. She knew it was improbable—impossible really, her idea didn't make sense—but she couldn't help but have an ounce of faith.

It was a map. A map of Panem to be more exact. She stared at it blankly, not knowing what to think. _Should she be relieved? Nervous?_ She wondered who the original owner of this was—and more importantly, why they threw it away. Or rather, why they even had it in the first place.

At first glance, it just looked like a regular old map. Her first instinct was that the original owner had thrown it away because it was useless and the capitol had just placed it in a backpack to toy with the tribute's minds. Maybe they thought it was funny to watch a tribute's face light up in excitement when they first thought they had been given a map of the arena, and for it to fall back down in disappointment when they realized it was just a useless map that they'd seen a hundred times in their school classrooms.

Sereina sighed, just about ready to throw the map back onto the ground. It was useless, just a cruel trick by the capitol to give them a false sense of hope before taking it away seconds later. However, something caught her eye. Just to the right of a white nine on the map, there was a red barn.

She looked up. The same red barn loomed in front of her.

Twisting her head to the right, she stared in awe at the glittering buildings of the city she had just emerged from.

On the map, the same city twinkled. It was smaller of course, but she could still see the futuristic buildings illustrated in bright colors—much more vivid than the greys and greens and browns that dotted the rest of the map.

A chilling realization hit her, sending shivers down her spine.

This was a map of the arena.

 _The arena was Panem._

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18, District 5 Male._

"Lux, I—I don't know if it's the best idea to walk on top of the dam. What if it collapses and we fall?" Jaxs questioned, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

Huffing, Lux turned back to face him and rolled her icy blue eyes. "It won't collapse and fall, you idiot. Plus, it's the quickest way to the smoke over there. We won't be able to get there in time if we walk all the way around the lake."

Jaxs glanced around. On one side of him was a large lake, with a town on the shore of it a few hundred yards away. Something about the town looks strangely familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on where he had seen it. Yet, he had the feeling that he had been there before in a distant memory, a dream perhaps.

On the other side of him was the dam, with roaring waterfalls spitting out of its side. About a hundred feet below where the waterfalls began, a winding river formed that lead to an expansive body of water, which he assumed was the ocean. The ocean stretched on for miles until it finally reached the horizon line.

Straight ahead of him, a giant cloud of black smoke loomed. It made him nervous just looking at it. _Why did Lux want them to head towards it?_ They should be staying away from danger, not running right into it.

"But why are we heading _towards_ the smoke? Shouldn't we be running away from it? What if there is a fire?" He asked, still confused.

"A fire is what I'm hoping for. Tributes will be running away from the fire and will run right into us. Duh," Lux grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Remember, who is the brain of this alliance and is going to get us all to the final three?"

"You are," he and Cinder mumbled in unison. They stood at the edge of the dam in a state of limbo. Ahead of them, a small five was carved into a stone block marking the beginning of the dam.

"That's right!" She chimed. "I know what I'm doing Jaxs, don't question me."

Lux lead the way, stepping onto the narrow stretch of cement that was the top of the dam. When Jaxs and Cinder didn't follow, she immediately turned around and gave them an angry look.

"Hurry up!" She barked before continuing to walk.

Jaxs gulped, looking down at the dropoff. It was a long way down. He had always been afraid of heights, but until now, he had never had to confront his fear. He felt a rush of nervousness pass through him, but he stepped onto the dam anyway. He had to follow Lux's orders, no matter how much he disagreed with them.

"Just don't look down," Cinder suggested with a smile. "It's not as scary if you do."

He continued to walk along the side of the dam. They had been walking for hours, passing in and out of various areas such as this one. His legs were beginning to hurt, but he didn't dare say anything. He was afraid of what Lux would do to him if he did.

Cinder hadn't spoken up either. Actually, Cinder had never spoken out against any of Lux's insane rules. Even when she had made him kill the girl from Nine yesterday, he hadn't even murmured in protest. Jaxs found it a bit odd but didn't say anything.

He, on the other hand, spoke out against Lux's rules frequently. After all, they were slightly unfair. _Why did Lux have to eat all the good tasting food? Why did Lux make them fetch all the water and carry around all the supplies while she did nothing? Why did they have to stand guard while she got to sleep through the entire night?_ Yet, no matter his feeling towards her rules, he still followed them because he didn't know how not to. Rules were rules for a reason, and if people didn't follow them, what would they be then?

They were about a quarter of the way across the dam when something caught Jaxs' eye. A figure loomed in the distance. Jaxs squinted his eyes in an attempt to get a clearer view.

He gasped when he realized what it was. _It was a girl._ They had found the tribute Lux was hunting for.

She was kneeling on top of the wall about halfway in between them and the other side. She was frantically splashing water in her face, but for what reason, Jaxs did not know.

"Lux," Jaxs murmured softly.

Rolling her eyes, Lux turned around to face him. Her tone was bitter when she spoke. "What is it now? Your legs hurt again? You afraid of heights? You want to stop?"

Jaxs shook his head, and Lux let out an annoyed huff. "Then what?" She scoffed.

"I—I—there's a girl up there, on the side of the dam."

Lux's frown instantly curved into a smile. "Why didn't you just say that in the beginning? Cinder, get your bow ready, Jaxs, take out your knives. "

Cinder instantly went pale behind him. "A—are we going to kill her?"

Lux's grin faded. "No, we're going to sing her a nice song and let her into our alliance! Yes, you moron, of course we're going to kill her! Every tribute we kill gets m—I mean us, closer to winning!"

Cinder began to load an arrow onto his bow, yet Lux stopped him. "Wait," she began. "We still have the element of surprise on our side, since she hasn't seen us. If you shoot an arrow and miss, she'll get away. We need to get closer."

Jaxs gulped, and Cinder's face turned white. He took a step backward as if he were going to retreat. Lux only grinned at the both of them.

"Cinder, you're the fastest out of us three, so you're going to go after her. Take one of Jaxs' knives, they'll work okay if you have to fight her hand-to-hand."

"Hand-to-hand?" Cinder squawked. "But I've only practiced with a bow, never with a knife."

"You'll be fine. Just remember, you're doing this for Jaxs and I, alright? You're helping us get further in the game, and you're keeping us alive by taking out this girl. If you do this for us, we are one step closer to getting out alive. Okay?"

Cinder nodded, looking a bit more certain with himself. "Okay. I'll do this for you guys."

Jaxs gave him a weak smile as he began to run across the dam. However, he had a bad feeling about this. The girl looked to be at least a few years older than Cinder and was probably more skilled then he was. Despite the fact that he barely knew Cinder, a part of him felt like he was responsible for him. He couldn't let Cinder do this alone.

"Lux, can I go help him?"

"No," Lux ordered. "Stay here. Both of you can't get hurt, because where would that leave me?"

Jaxs wanted badly to help Cinder out, yet, he couldn't go against Lux's orders. His feet remained cemented in the ground, his body standing as still as a statue.

The girl had noticed Cinder, and let out a shriek of surprise. She quickly leaped to her feet and began to sprint in the opposite direction, away from Cinder. However, the girl wasn't that fast, and Cinder was quickly gaining ground on her.

"Let's get closer," Lux murmured. "But not too close."

The two of them broke into a run, heading in the direction of Cinder and the girl. However, they weren't gaining much ground, for Cinder and his target was running too.

Within a minute or so, Cinder had caught up to her. He stabbed his knife into the girl's left calf, causing her to let out a yowl of pain. But before he could take it out, the girl swung around, giving Cinder a punch square in the gut. He staggered backward, falling flat on the hard cement.

The girl began to stagger away, the knife still stuck in her left leg. A trail of crimson blood lay splattered on the cement. Now that they were closer, Jaxs recognized the girl. It was Nerida, the pretty one from District Four. He continued to run towards Cinder, Lux trailing a few feet behind.

"Get up Cinder!" Lux yelped. "She's getting away!"

Cinder slowly stood to his feet, looking a bit fazed. At the very least, Nerida had left him winded. He began to sprint after her, running along the narrow dam wall. With one misstep, he could plummet to his death. Jaxs decided not to think about that, continuing to run in their direction.

 _Don't look down, don't look down_ , he repeated to himself.

Cinder had caught up with the girl again, but this time, he was without a knife. He lunged forward, grabbing onto the back of the girl's shirt with a strong grip. This caused both of them to fall flat on the hard cement. Cinder pinned the girl, pressing her arms to the ground. Nerida struggled underneath him, desperately trying to escape.

Jaxs and Lux were about twenty or so feet away now. Jaxs wanted to keep running and help his ally, yet Lux stopped him.

"Don't go any further," she ordered. Jaxs halted dead in his tracks, not daring to move another step. All he could do now was watch as Cinder fought Nerida on his own. He was helpless.

Cinder grabbed the knife out of Nerida's leg, causing her to shriek. A pool of blood surrounded them, and Jaxs thought he was going to be sick.

Holding the knife over Nerida's neck, Cinder began to tremble.

"Don't struggle," Jaxs heard Cinder tell the girl with a shaky voice. "It'll only make it worse."

Just as he was about to slit her throat, Nerida let out a determined yell and flipped Cinder off of her body. Cinder let out a wail and landed flat on his back beside Nerida. A little less than half his body hovered over the edge, while the other half lay flat on the wall. It would only take a push to send him over, maybe not even that. A flick of a finger would send him tumbling to his doom.

"Help! Help!" Cinder began to scream as the girl grabbed the knife out of his hand and rolled onto her knees. She loomed over him, holding the knife inches above his throat.

"Cinder!" Jaxs wailed. Lux didn't say a word, her face expressionless.

Reaching into his bag, Jaxs pulled out a silver throwing knife. Then, he hurled it at Nerida. It flew through the air in silence, hitting her right shoulder with a muffled thud.

The force of the knife caused Nerida to lurch backward and off the edge of the dam. She began to scream, yet it was soon drowned out by the loud roar of the waterfalls below.

For what seemed like centuries, they waited for the echo of the girl's cannon. None ever came.

* * *

 _Albert Quarius, 15, District 4 Male._

For the entire day, Albert had been slipping in and out of consciousness. He was stuck in a grey area somewhere in between life and death, hovering on the thin line that separated them. Dreams and reality blurred; he could no longer tell fact from fiction, lies from truth. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was dying and that this puddle of blood would be his watery grave.

Albert had always imagined he'd go out in a different way. Maybe at the hands of another ruthless pirate gang, forced to walk the plank into an ocean full of swarming sharks. Or his father's crew would rebel and hold Albert for ransom, killing him when his father wouldn't comply. Really, he just thought his end would be an epic saga of events, like a battle to end all battles or a mutiny to end all mutinies. Never did he expect to be too weak to even walk out of his own grave. This death was pathetic.

Days ago, he believed he was invincible. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd win; the idea might as well have been written in the record books at the very moment he was reaped. _Albert Quarius, victor of the 10th Hunger Games._ It still sounded nice now, even though that idea was next to impossible. Even he, who was as stubborn as a mule, couldn't cling to that fantasy.

"I can't die like a landlubber," Albert murmured, yet his words were barely comprehensible. If someone was listening, his words would sound like mumbled gibberish.

Albert glanced up towards the placid blue sky. Currently, that was all he had control over. The only part of his body he could move was his eyes—the rest had gone numb. He imagined his father and the rest of the crew watching him bleed out right now, probably laughing at how pathetic his death was.

Deciding it was no use to spend his final moments thinking about what others thought of him, he focused his attention back to the sky above him. It reminded him of the ocean back in District Four. On a sunny day, the ocean would be as clear and as blue as the sky currently was.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Albert spotted something white floating through the air. He hoped it was an angel coming down to fetch him and escort him up to the big sea up in the sky. Yes, that'd be nice. He'd sail around for days, watching from above as Eris and Alaric died painful deaths. Then, when they got up there, he'd kill them a second time and hand their bodies on the bow of his ship to show the entire world he'd gotten his revenge.

As the angel loomed closer, he began to realize it wasn't an angel at all. Rather, it was a parachute carrying a vile of medicine he desperately needed. Albert curved his lips into a large smile, yet they didn't get very far. _This was amazing! The moronic Capitolites had probably loved his "acting" so much they wanted him to do it longer! He'd recover and get his revenge on Eris and Alaric and then he'd go home and prove to the crew he wasn't pathetic!_

The sponsor gift landed a few feet to his left. Albert tried to reach for it, yet when he moved his arms, they didn't budge. Instead, a shooting pain flew up his arm, causing him to wince in agony.

He tried again, yet his efforts yielded the same unsuccessful result. _Were they doing this to taunt him? Putting the only thing he needed to survive feet away from him, and him not being able to get it? Morons! How dare they mess with Albert Quarius, son of the m—_

Albert lost his train of thought, and his mind began to go cloudy again. He was slipping back into unconsciousness, and his vision was growing dark. One last time, he reached for the sponsor gift, but his body didn't move, confined to its bloody grave.

If only Eris could have seen him now—dying inches away from the only thing that could save him. He was truly pathetic.

* * *

 **A/N: And with that we are halfway through the games! Well, not really, but half the tributes are dead. The second half should slow down a lot with deaths, and the games are probably going to be about a week long, possibly a little longer. I have most of it planned out, but some stuff is probably still going to shift.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I felt a little out of it when writing, but I felt that after two weeks I should give you guys something, so here it is. I hope I'm doing all your characters justice, and if I'm not, let me know.**

 **14th: Gadget and Gizmo McGhee, District 3 Male, killed by arena.**

 **This death killed me. I love Gadget and Gizmo, they were one of my favorites in this story. You did a wonderful job making them Goldie, and I loved that they weren't just "the Siamese twins", but rather, they had unique personalities that really made them each well rounded tributes with lots of depth. I wish they could have gone farther, but realistically, I couldn't really see them making it past the second day, as they couldn't really move that fast. But they definitely win the award for most unique tribute in this story, even if they died so early. Thank you so much for submitting them, they were awesome.**

 **13th: Albert Quarius, District 4 Male, bled to death from wounds inflicted by Eris.**

 **Albert was supposed to die last chapter, but I forgot to his cannon in, so he lasted a little bit longer then I originally planned. He was probably one of my favorite characters to write, all his POVs were just so fun for me (with the exception of this last one). I originally had him breaking the final 8, but as I was writing the bloodbath I realized there was no realistic way for him to make it out without getting injured or killed. He needed to fulfill his arc with Eris, and the only way to really do that was to kill one of them, and Albert was the weaker of the two. So I kept him around for as long as possible, and I don't really know if his death was realistic, but I really thought that it would be even more unrealistic for him to stay around any longer with his wounds. Plat, thank you so much for answering all my PMs and questions throughout this story and giving me guidance when I needed it, and I don't think I would have been able to get this far without you. Sorry that Albert couldn't have lasted longer, but thank you for submitting him still, he was very cool.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Alaric, Eris**

 **Commander and her Soldiers: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**

 **(Tree) Huggers: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **The Original Girls On Fire: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Loners: Sereina, Nerida, Arilli**


	34. Night 2: Oceans and Ashes

_Night 2: Oceans and Ashes_

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18, District 8 Female._

The first thing she noticed when she woke was the blazing sun. Teetering on the edge of the earth, it stained the sky the color of a raging fire. It was beautiful. Dangerous, but beautiful. She imagined the surface of it would be hotter than any fire the Capitol could ever send her way.

She blinked open her eyes slowly, looking around. Really, she was just surprised she hadn't woken up in heaven. That fire was _surely_ sent to kill her, _so why didn't it?_

Around her, the long grass had burned to a crisp. All that was left was a skeleton of its former self, ashes and dry blades of brown and black. They were all rough to the touch and crumbled when she touched them with soft hands. Well, her hands weren't soft anymore. They were covered in blisters and burns that oozed with pus.

Grace slowly stood to her feet, wincing in pain. Her entire body was littered with throbbing burns, and it took all her energy not to scream out in pain.

Being a nurse, she had treated burn patients before. She knew she needed to clean the wounds first, so they didn't get infected. All she needed was water, which there certainly was none of around here in this dry and brittle landscape that had seemed to form around her when she slept.

The burnt grass crunched beneath her charred shoes as she walked, and every step she took was agony. Biting her tongue, she continued on, hoping that once she was out of the area in which the fire had burned, there would be water.

As she walked, her mind kept drifting to the same thought. _Why was she alive? Why hadn't the Capitol killed her when they had gotten the chance? Why did they spare her, and worse yet, what did they save her for?_

She didn't want to think about that now. All she wanted to do was soothe her pain; her concerns about the Capitol weren't the most urgent thing on her mind.

Grace made her way over a small hill, stumbling over her feet. Everything felt like it was on fire still, and she had begun to whimper softly. Hopefully, no one would hear her.

Once she had gotten over the crest of the hill, she spotted a large body of water in the distance. Its surface sparkled in the sunset like a million shiny gems in a mine. She let out a happy squeal and ran down the hill towards the water. Everything hurt, but in a minute, she'd have relief.

As she ran, she noticed how dry her mouth was. She hadn't had water for at least a day—perhaps more if she'd been out for longer. Her tongue craved the sweet, cooling taste of water more than ever before. Not to mention her lungs were probably still filled with ash and smoke—which only added to the dryness. She decided she'd drink from the water after she'd cleaned her wounds.

Finally, she reached the sandy beach. Throwing off her burnt shoes, she wriggled her calloused toes against the smooth sand. It felt amazing.

Darting towards the water, she flung herself into the crashing waves. Letting the cool water envelop her body, she expected to feel relief. However, her entire body began to sting as if a million bees had just attacked her. In the distance, the fiery sun began to slink behind the horizon line.

Scrambling to her feet, Grace let out a shriek of pain. Everything stung—her eyes, her skin, her throat—her entire body. Like a wild animal, she scurried through the shallow water, hissing and screaming as she ran.

Grace collapsed onto the cool sand. Her breathing was heavy and quick, and she dug her fingers deep into the ground to try to release some of the pain. _How had she been such an idiot? This was a beach, and the water was the ocean! That meant it was salt water! Salt water didn't help burns, it irritated them!_

Her throat felt drier—almost like it was on fire. She could barely breathe, and her skin felt like it was being dipped into a vat of acid.

Then, she let out a scream so loud she swore her mother could hear it back at their home in District Eight.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District 12 Male._

A faint scream echoed in the distance. When he didn't even flinch at the sharp sound, he realized that he was becoming numb to the constant pain circling in the air around him. It seemed to be everywhere—a constant reminder that he was no longer at home, but rather in the arena. Yet, his home was never much better. There were screams and pain and suffering there too. They were just less visible.

Cinder felt his stomach rumble. Reaching into a brown backpack beside him, he pulled out a bag of dried fruit. He was just about to offer Jaxs some when Lux stopped him abruptly.

"What do you think you are doing?" She questioned, furrowing her thin brow.

"I—I—I was just going to eat," Cinder replied, holding the clear bag up in the air for her to see. "I can share if you want, I don't need all of it for myself."

Lux huffed, then reached out for the bag. "Fine. Give it to me."

Cinder stood to his feet, walking across the short grass. They had camped in between the town and the dam, yards away from where he had killed the girl. He gulped. Thinking about Nerida's terrified shriek as she fell to her doom made him sick to his stomach, but he did feel a bit better about it since he knew her death was not in vain. He was doing it to help his allies like Lux said. There was no pain in helping others, especially if they were kind and nice people like Jaxs and Lux were.

He handed the bag over to Lux. She smiled, ripping it open and dumping the entire thing into her cupped palm. Handing the punctured bag back to Cinder, he saw only a few pieces were left, barely enough for a snack.

 _Lux was probably just hungry, that was it_. Cinder grinned at her as she threw the bag back at him. It landed carelessly on the ground, whatever contents left in it spilling out. _Yes, she was just hungry. That was all. Hungry people could get grumpy, and that could lead her to be greedy. That sounded right. She was just hungry._

His smile faded slightly as he watched the food disappear into the grass. However, he didn't let it bother him too much. He was looking forward to the sweet taste of fruit on his tongue, but he knew that there would be more food in the bag. He had seen a stale piece of bread at the laying at the bottom of the backpack a few hours ago. _Bread was just as good as fruit, right?_

"I'm a little chilly. Jaxs, can you make me a fire?" Lux asked with a mouth full of food.

Jaxs rolled over onto his side, groaning. "Do I have to? I thought I could at least get a little bit of sleep since you made me stay up for practically the entire night last night," he replied groggily.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Lux asserted.

"But there is no wood around!" Jaxs exclaimed, sitting up from his sleeping position. "How am I supposed to make a fire with no wood?"

"Not my problem," Lux jested, popping more fruit into her mouth. Cinder felt his mouth water merely watching her eat.

Groaning, Jaxs flopped back onto his back. "Just let me sleep for a few more minutes."

"No, I want a fire now!" She demanded.

"But it will take all night," Jaxs complained. "I won't be able to sleep, and I'll be even more tired than I was today."

Lux gave him a deathly glare. "If it takes all night it will take all night. I don't care."

"I'll make you a fire Lux," Cinder suggested, standing back to his feet. Even though he was tired, he knew that his ally was even more so. "Jaxs doesn't need to do it, we can let him rest."

Rolling her eyes, Lux grunted. "Fine, as long as I get my fire, I don't care who makes it."

Cinder wondered why she just couldn't make her own fire but didn't say anything. _She was probably just tired, that was it._ There couldn't be another explanation for it. _She was just tired._

* * *

 _Tesserae Bird, 15, District 6 Female._

She returned to the town, and all she saw was ash. Black, thick, and heavy, the smell of smoke still lingered in the cool night air.

"Grace?" She croaked, squinting her eyes into small slits. Yet in the dark of the night, all saw was black. It was the color of ash; the color of death; the color of the darkness that was slowly corrupting her heart.

Silence responded. Taking a step forward, her feet crunched against the debris-littered ground. Sparkling embers littered the area, ruminants of the fire that had blazed there just this morning. Otherwise, everything was dead, burned by the fire. Well, everything except her. She was still alive—barely.

Everything hurt. Her cracked feet throbbed in her charred shoes, and her body was covered in burns and blisters that still felt like they were on fire. She could feel them getting infected; the pus was turning a sour yellow that reminded her of dried grass. Her once beautiful crimson locks were coated with a thick layer of ash, and the ends had burned to a crisp. She looked as if she'd just been to hell and back. However, in a way she had.

"Grace!" She called out again, her voice hoarse and brittle. She needed to find her ally to make sure she was still alright. In addition, Grace would know how to clean her wounds and help her get better. But that was an afterthought. The safety of her ally came first, then her safety came second. That was the way it had always been. She was selfless and put others above herself.

The death of Gadget and Gizmo hadn't changed that. She convinced herself that if she had gone and saved them she would have died. By the time she had arrived, they were already dying; they couldn't be helped. Right? Right. If she had helped them she would have gotten herself killed, and then she wouldn't have been able to save others like she planned to do. It wasn't because she was being selfish, rather, she was just being rational like Grace had told her to be. When the time was right, she'd sacrifice herself for someone else and show the world how selfless she really was.

However, somewhere deep inside of her, she knew that there may have been time to save the twins'. She could have run and helped them the first minute she saw them instead of staring at them dumbfounded like they had seven toes. Maybe it was fear that held her back; maybe she'd rather live then die; maybe she couldn't just willingly trade her life for someone else's. Maybe back home her selflessness had been different, for inside she always knew that some time, no matter how far away, there would be another meal waiting for her. She wasn't going to starve to death by giving her food to others. She was willing to be hungry for a little to ensure someone else was full but was she ready to die so that someone else could live?

The wind howled in the distance, pleading for an answer. However, like her calls to Grace, no response came. The night was silent and so was she, her toes buried in the ashes of those she couldn't bring herself to save.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He was on the first watch for the night. They were still stationed in the orange grove with the strange elevens carved on the trees, and for the most part, the night was silent. Only the occasional breeze rustled the leaves, and he had heard a sole bird coo. A few feet away, Celeste rolled over in the grass, drifting in and out of a light sleep.

They hadn't seen much action since the bloodbath, which was a good thing. He didn't know if his fragile ally could take much more after Tristan's death. Saying she was shaken up was an understatement, but at least she had stopped blaming herself every second of the day. After all, it was no use. Living in the past would get her killed. The only way they could survive is if they looked to the future.

In the distance, a faint light flickered. Raleigh felt a chill run down his spine. _It was probably nothing_ , he told himself. Most likely it was a dumb tribute making a fire to cook their dinner who had no idea it was like a beacon, alerting everyone else of their location.

However, the light grew brighter as time passed. Raleigh realized it was growing closer, and it was probably not a fire. Rather, it was most likely a tribute.

He breathed in the cool night air, trying to remain calm. If they left now, they'd still have time to get away safely. Yet, for the first time during these games, Celeste looked completely comfortable and worry-free. He didn't want to disturb her and make her nervous for no reason. Plus, the tribute probably wasn't looking for trouble, and veiled by the darkness of the night, likely wouldn't even find them if they were. Raleigh decided to wait.

Minutes passed, and the light was still approaching. His perked ears picked up faint voices. Instantly, he recognized who the voices belonged to. Shit. It was the careers.

"Celeste," Raleigh whispered.

His ally groggily opened her eyes, blinking slowly. She sat up with a yawn. "Is it my turn to take watch already?" She asked sleepily.

Raleigh shook his head silently. "No, we need to leave. Now."

Celeste's eyes widened with fear. She gazed around, confused. "W—what's going on?"

Raleigh heard the voices growing closer, and they were probably only a few hundred feet away now. "No time to explain," he replied hastily. "We just need to get out of here."

She nodded her head up and down mutely, shifting in the grass. She went to find her backpack in the dark but paused when a shrill voice interrupted her.

"Alaric! Alaric! Look!" One of the careers shouted, angling their flashlight in their direction.

Raleigh swore under his breath, quickly springing to his feet. "Leave it!" He yelped, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. Celeste let out a surprised shout and dropped the bag into the long grass.

He broke into a sprint, Celeste trailing inches behind him. He felt the light of the flashlight hit his back, and instantly knew the two careers were fast on their trail. Hopefully, they would be faster.

The path they were running seemed to go on in an endless straight line until it faded into the darkness. On either side, tall orange trees winded, blocking their path if they wanted to turn. There was nowhere to go but straight—right into the darkness.

The footsteps behind him were getting closer. Celeste's breathing was short and shallow, silver tears rimmed around her wide eyes. Raleigh felt a bit calmer, yet couldn't help but feel a hard pit of nervousness deep in his stomach. Back home, he had often run from the peacekeepers when they saw him and his friends fooling around in the trainyard. He had practice at evading those who wanted his head. The only difference now was that his life was on the line, death the punishment if he got caught.

"I'm scared," Celeste whimpered in between her shallow breaths. "What if we die?"

"We won't," Raleigh replied confidently, though he wasn't quite sure himself. The careers had been training for years, and they surely had more endurance then he and Celeste had. However, he couldn't think about that right now. He had to be confident in his abilities if he wanted to see tomorrow.

Ahead, a horizontal path crossed the one they were running on now. If they turned onto it, they'd be out of the careers view for a few seconds. Raleigh smiled, a plan coming to mind. Maybe they couldn't outrun the careers, but they might be able to outsmart them.

"See the turn ahead?" Raleigh whispered.

"Yeah," Celeste whimpered.

"Take it."

They approached the turn and sharply turned right. They had a few seconds before the careers caught up with them. Raleigh saw another turn ahead, this one onto a path that ran parallel to the first.

"Turn right now," he ordered as they continued to run. Celeste did as he told her, cutting right.

"Climb one of the trees," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"But what if they see us?" Celeste questioned with a shaky voice.

"Then we die, but it's our best shot. We both know we can't outrun them."

Nodding her head, Celeste scampered up one of the trees like an agile squirrel. Living in Seven, Raleigh assumed she had some practice. He did the same, ducking off the path and leaping into one of the trees. The thin branches bent under his weight, yet they did not snap.

He held his breath as the careers ran by, not daring to exhale until he could no longer hear their voices or see their light. In the tree across the way from him, Celeste stood as still as a statue, frozen in fear.

The careers soon disappeared in the dark of the night. Raleigh smiled, his tense muscles relaxing.

Celeste leaped out of the tree, beginning to laugh nervously. "I can't believe that worked," she muttered in disbelief.

"See, I told you. If we can outsmart the careers, we can do anything," Raleigh replied, making his way to the ground.

"Like win the games?" She asked.

"Like win the games," he responded with a grin.

For the first time during the games, Raleigh saw a flicker of confidence shine in Celeste's eyes.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

She had always felt more comfortable at night. No one had eyes in the black of the night; everyone was blind to the world surrounding them. The monsters were indistinguishable, and they no longer had to hide like they did in the day. At night, she could pretend she was normal. She could pretend she wasn't the monster that everyone thought she was.

This morning, she had finished her half-filled canteen of water and had decided she needed more. She had waited until dusk to go out since it was far more dangerous to be out in broad daylight then it was to be out at night. It had taken her hours of stumbling around in the dark until she had found a water source, yet finally, she had found one.

Bending down, she let the cool water fill the metal bottle. When it was full, she took a sip and twisted the cap back on. She stood and was about to walk away when she heard a shrill cry in the distance.

Arilli jumped, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her knife. Her wide eyes searched the dark—yet she saw no one. Maybe it was just her imagination acting up again, making something out of nothing. _Yes, that was probably it._

However, she heard another loud whimper upstream. Clutching her knife tightly in her hand, she began to move in the direction of the wails.

Through the dark of the night, Arilli spotted a faint figure laying on the edge of the stream. It was Nerida, the girl from District Four. Arilli remembered how envious she had been of Nerida's pretty golden locks and tanned skin during training. Now, as she saw her lying half day on the banks of the river, she no longer felt jealous of the once pretty girl.

Nerida's limbs were twisted in every direction, her bones bent at unnatural angles. She let out a low moaning noise that matched that of a dying animal. A knife was lodged in her right shoulder, and dried blood clung to her clothes.

Arilli's eyes widened, and she paused in her tracks. She slipped her knife back into her pocket. The girl was no threat—she was half dead already.

"H—help m—me," the girl sobbed, spotting Arilli out of the corner of her eye.

Arilli turned to leave, not wanting anything to do with the dying girl. Looking at her deformed body was making Arilli sick to her stomach. Plus, there was nothing she could do to help. The girl was already dying.

" _Please!_ " The girl yelped, trying to extend her shattered arm to reach out for Arilli. However, this made her screech in pain and cough up red blood.

Arilli turned back to the Nerida, averting her eyes from the sad scene in front of her. "I—I can't," she stuttered.

"Please," the girl whimpered, much softer this time. "Everything hurts, I—I can't feel my legs. Please, help me. I don't want to die."

Arilli blinked, still not looking at the girl. "Who did this to you?"

"It was a boy—he was young, and had dark hair and these grey eyes. I—I don't know what his name is."

"Cinder," Arilli breathed, her jaw dropping in surprise. How could her bright-eyed, always smiling district partner do something as awful as this? She didn't think he had it in him to kill another person, but apparently, he had. Lux had really changed him.

Nerida let out another shriek of pain. Arilli winced, instantly feeling a pang of pity wash over her. She began to walk towards the dying girl, sitting down in the soft sand beside her distorted body.

"It—it's okay. You'll be okay," Arilli comforted, running her fingers through Nerida's silky hair. Nerida continued to whimper, her entire body shaking feverishly.

Taking the knife out of her pocket, Nerida continued to stroke her soft hair. Even as she was dying, Arilli still couldn't help but admire Nerida's beauty. The faint moonlight illuminated her skin, making her glow. Her deep blue eyes glittered like the night stars.

"I wish I could be as beautiful as you are," Arilli cooed, still stroking her hair. "I was always envious of girl's like you, with long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. I always wanted to look like you. I wanted boys to fawn over me and dream about me at night when they go to sleep. But the only dreams I'm in are their nightmares."

Nerida whimpered again.

"What do you like to dream about?" Arilli asked.

"T—the—ocean," she stuttered, barely able to make the sounds with her mouth.

Arilli nodded, gripping the knife in her hand tighter. "The ocean is a nice thing to dream about. There is no ocean in where I live, but I've seen pictures of it. From what I've seen, it's beautiful. Someday I'd like to go to the ocean, but I guess you've been there since there is an ocean in Four. What's it like?"

"Well—th—there's th—the soft sand that crunches between yo—ur—your toes, a—and t—there a-are the waves that g—glisten in—in the sun," she stuttered, smiling weakly.

"Mhmm," Arilli murmured, bringing the knife to Nerida's throat. She began to slide it along the whimpering girl's neck, slicing across her skin. Nerida didn't seem to notice, continuing to talk about the thing she loved most. "What else?"

Nerida opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes widened for a second, and she let out one last whimper before going silent.

A cannon went off, and Arilli couldn't help but jump in surprise even though she knew exactly who had just died.

* * *

 **A/N: And Day 2 has come to a close! I've put a final 8 poll on my profile, so if you have time, go vote in that! I don't think we'll be getting there for a little while, but I'll give you all a few chapters to vote.**

 **Questions: Who would you like to hear from next chapter? What did you think of this chapter? Anyone you like the best?**

 **Eulogies:**

 **12th: Nerida Willows, District 4 Female. Pity killed by Arilli Carr.**

 **Nerida was a character I really liked, and I really just think she had a pretty unlucky games. She just didn't play her cards right, and a different world where I was nicer to her I think she could have had a shot at winning. She was unlucky with the map, she was in Lux's way, she picked the wrong people to try to ally with, and I'm sure that if she went and tried with other people who weren't the careers she could have had a little bit more luck. I always wanted her and Arilli to be allies, but it just never happened, so I gave them this little scene at the end that I thought was a good send off for Nerida and shows a bit of a different side to Arilli. Nerida, you were a nice character, and I'm sad to see you go. I'm also sorry I beat you up during the games because you didn't deserve that, but at least you got a nice death. RIP Nerida, you will be missed.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Eris, Alaric**

 **She's the Queen: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Confident and Cocky: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **Surprise** **! Fire Actually Burns: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Loners: Sereina, Arilli**


	35. Day 3: Throne of Lies

_Day 3: Throne of Lies_

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District 1 Male._

His eyes jolted open. He was breathing heavily like a dog in the thick heat of summer or a marathon runner after he had just finished his excruciating race. His heart was beating fast in his chest. _Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bump._

Springing into a sitting position, Eris looked around warily. Dawn had yet to break, and an ocean of darkness surrounded him. With a click, he flicked on his flashlight. A pool of light illuminated around him, yet even still, there was no one there. Only Alaric slept soundly in the grass beside him, snoring quietly.

 _It was just a dream_ , he told himself with a sigh. _It was just a dream._ However, Lena's piercing eyes had seemed so real just a second ago as they stared right into his soul. Albert's screams were almost exact, the same pitch and tone as they had been days before. They were chasing him on an endless path, and with every step, he seemed to grow slower and slower. But there was no one here. None of it was real though. They were dead, and his nightmares were just nightmares. They were nothing more.

Laying back down in the grass, Eris flicked off his flashlight and closed his eyes again. He hadn't had a nightmare in years. Normally, he didn't carry his regrets with him. They were things of the past; he just let them go and they didn't bother him anymore. He'd be upset for a minute or two, but nothing like this. His regrets never haunted his dreams before. _What had changed?_

He didn't know. Eris thought he had forgotten about them. After all, if he wanted to win the games he couldn't be living in the past. But he was. It was easy to forget about the two tributes that had seemed to disappear into thin air last night, but those he killed wouldn't leave him alone. They flashed before him every time he closed his eyes, and they were waiting for him around every corner he turned. Lena and Albert seemed to be everywhere, following his every movement—his every step.

Sitting back up again, Eris turned to his sleeping ally. "Alaric," Eris whispered, nudging his shoulder. Alaric stirred in his sleeping back, his eyes fluttering open sleepily.

"What?" Alaric murmured groggily, his eyes half open. "What time is it?"

Eris ignored his question. It was irrelevant anyway. "Do you believe in ghosts?" He asked, staring blankly into the night.

Alaric snorted, rolling over onto his side. "And since when did you get so spiritual?" He chortled.

Eris frowned. "When you became annoying," he retorted.

His ally laughed. "So eighteen years ago?"

His frown grew. His ally always seemed to know just how to push everyone's buttons. He thought of Lena and her temperament again, but quickly stopped himself. _Don't think of her._ However, she wouldn't go away, her mutilated body still pungent in his mind.

"Just tell me if you believe in ghosts!" He exclaimed urgently, though, in reality, he was in no rush. The Hunger Games were a game of waiting after all, but he wanted Alaric to tell him what he already knew so that he'd be sure his visions were merely his imagination.

Alaric rolled his eyes. "And what made you so grumpy?"

"Just tell me!"

"Fine, if you just _desperately_ need to know, I don't believe they exist. We are on the earth for a few years, then we die. That's it."

Eris nodded his head. "Dark, but thanks. It makes me feel better knowing they aren't real, you know?"

"No," Alaric replied plainly, rolling away from Eris. "I don't know."

Laying back down on his sleeping back, he felt a little bit more relaxed. _See, ghosts aren't real. They are just in your imagination. Lena and Albert are dead, and they don't care whether or not you killed them._

However, when he closed his eyes his ghosts returned, and he knew deep inside that he couldn't outrun them forever.

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District 7 Female._

"I'm sick of having oranges night and day," Raleigh grumbled, plopping another slice into his mouth. "I'm really in the mood for a nice birthday cake, aren't you Celeste?"

Celeste narrowed her eyes in Raleigh's direction. "Is it your birthday?" She asked curiously.

Raleigh shook his head. "No, but I really want some. It's someone's birthday somewhere, right?"

Shrugging, Celeste looked at the last orange in her hand. Now that they were out of the orchard and had left their backpacks in their haste, they had nothing. She had taken a handful of fruit on their way out, but they had finished them off by the time dawn rolled around. The sole orange was all they had left.

"Birthday cake would be nice," she muttered, putting the last orange into her pocket. They'd need it later, even if Raleigh didn't notice it right now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the early morning songs of the birds high in the trees. For the remainder of the night, they had camped in a rundown town with twelves painted onto all the signs.

"You know," Raleigh spoke after some time. "I was thinking about what happened last night, and I think we should take action instead of waiting like sitting ducks for others to come and attack us."

Celeste gave him a confused glance. "What do you mean?"

Raleigh hesitated, his mouth hanging open for a few moments before words came out. "Well, a few days ago I came up with this plan—it's pretty crazy, but after what we did last night—I think it could work."

Shaking her head back and forth, Celeste gulped. "I—I don't really—"

Raleigh interrupted her. "You haven't even heard me through yet! Just listen."

Celeste held her breath. She had a bad feeling about this.

"So, I was thinking that in the middle of the night, most likely right before dawn when the person on watch is most sleepy and isn't as alert as they would be when they first took watch—we could attack the careers."

"What?" Celeste squawked, her eyes widening. "We'd _die_ Raleigh! There are so many things that could go wrong! For one, we—"

"Just hear me out," Raleigh responded.

She clenched her teeth together, closing her eyes. No plan to attack the careers was a good one, despite whatever Raleigh was going to try to pitch to her.

"When we attack the careers, we'd take them by surprise. They would never be expecting someone—outliers like us, to attack them. They are supposed to be the ones hunting other tributes, not the other way around. Especially when they are sleeping. Anyway, we'd take the one on the watch out with a spear first, and once he's impaled, the other person would take out the one who was sleeping, and neither of them would even know what hit them until they're dead!"

"I—I—" she stuttered, at a loss for words.

"Just think about it, Celeste. With them gone, we'd have a clear path to victory. Plus, we have the element of surprise on our side too. They won't even see us coming!"

"No," Celeste replied sternly. "It's a bad idea."

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know it is," he chuckled. "But we have to do something. I can't just sit here and pray that everything will work itself out in the end because it won't. I need to put my destiny into my own hands, I can't just hope that no one will find us because look at what happened last night."

"We don't even have weapons," Celeste muttered. "How do you expect us to take down another tribute, let alone two trained ones with nothing but our bare hands?"

On cue, Celeste heard a low beeping noise coming from above her head. Looking upwards, she spotted two white parachutes fluttering in the clear blue sky like birds in the wind. Attached to them were two wooden spears—both their weapon of choice. Raleigh's mouth dropped in shock.

"I guess you aren't the only one who wants us to attack the careers, huh?" Celeste asked, her green eyes fixated on the floating gift.

"I guess not," Raleigh muttered, unusually quiet. "I wonder who it's from. Your mentor?"

"No, Daffodil wouldn't waste her money on us. She never liked me during training anyways. She thought I was weird because I talked to myself a lot."

"Well, I don't think it's weird," Raleigh told her with a grin. "It's quirky. I like it."

Celeste took her eyes off the parachute, blinking at Raleigh a few times. Everyone had always told her that her self-conversations were annoying and bothersome. No one had ever told her they liked them.

"Thanks," Celeste mumbled shyly, looking away and back at the nearing parachute.

"Yeah, no problem," Raleigh replied. "You're my friend, and you deserve a compliment or two."

He stood, reaching towards the spear and grabbing it tightly. Around his was a string and a small attached white card with printed writing on it.

 _I'm betting on you, kid. Go do something stupid—B._

"Who is B?" Celeste inquired, leaning over to get a better view of the card.

"Buick, he's my mentor," Raleigh laughed. "I guess he finally decided to take my advice."

Celeste sighed, grabbing her spear and holding it tightly in her hand. With Raleigh's plan, so many things could go wrong. In nine out of ten scenarios, they would end up dead, lying face first in a pool of their own blood. But what Raleigh said did have some truth to it. They couldn't just sit here and pray for a miracle to happen. If they wanted to win the games, they needed to take action. It's what Tristan would have wanted her to do.

"So, what do you say? Want to go do something stupid?" Raleigh asked, his eyes flickering with amusement.

Celeste looked up at him, giving him a weak grin. _Be confident, be confident._ They beat the careers once, and they could do it again. They could do it. No what ifs. They were going to do it.

"Okay, I'm in."

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

When she woke up on her third day in the arena, the sun was already high in the sky, and half the day was already wasted away.

"It looks like sleeping beauty finally awoke from her 100-year slumber," Jaxs joked, his large grin the first thing she saw when she cracked open her eyes. Cinder giggled a few feet away.

"You're finally up!" He chorused, skipping over towards her. "A little part of me thought you were dead, but inside I really knew that you were just sleeping. I mean, dead people don't snore, right?"

Lux heaved in a heavy sigh, rolling over onto her side. _Annnd she was back._ Just moments ago, she had been sitting on a golden stage in the Capitol, a glittering crown of jewels plastered on her head. She had just won the games, and Jaxs and Cinder—well, their dead bodies were being shipped back to their home districts in a box. Giovanni was announcing her victory, and the millions of people in the crowd were chanting her name. For once in her life people didn't just see her as a little girl, capable of nothing. She was powerful, and everyone loved her.

But then she woke up, and she was back here, in the presence of her two annoying allies who had brains no bigger than peanuts. _Just a few more days,_ she told herself. Hopefully, it'd be less if she worked fast enough.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" Lux snapped, looking up at the bright sun. "It's almost noon! At this rate, we won't have any time to go tribute hunting before it gets dark!"

Jaxs' face went red, and Cinder's smile faded slightly. "You told us to not wake you up unless it was an emergency," Cinder replied softly.

"I meant not to wake me up in the middle of the night," Lux rolled her eyes. "Were you just going to let me sleep through the entire day?"

"Well," Jaxs muttered, not knowing what to say. "I guess we were?"

 _Idiots._ Lux let out a sigh of annoyance and wriggled out of her sleeping bag. When she was victor, she was going to live alone. That way, there would be no one to annoy her, and no one would get on her fragile nerves.

She stood and crossed their small campsite, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a container of walnuts. "Jaxs, roll up my sleeping bag. Cinder, pack the supplies. And do it quickly! We have no time to waste, since you two let me sleep for so damn long."

"Where are we going?" Cinder asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Tribute hunting," she replied. "There are only eleven of us left, and by the end of the day, I want to get that number down to nine."

Behind her, she heard her two allies sigh. She knew they didn't want to go, but she didn't care. They were tired, that was obvious, but that was all part of her plan. She wasn't only killing her competitors—she was killing her allies too. They were dying too, yet the signs weren't as visible yet. She was running them to the ground with her daily marches and "tribute hunts". She hoped within a few days they'd pass out from exhaustion, too weak to even lift a finger. If her timing was right, the three of them would be the only ones left. Then, she'd barely have to lift a finger to kill them. They'd die on their own, too exhausted to even stand, let alone pick up a dagger and kill her.

"Did I stutter?" She barked. Her two allies shook their heads back and forth at her, still too frightened and too oblivious to defy her.

Quickly, they scampered around their makeshift campsite, packing the supplies and stomping out the embers of their dying fire. Like the good servants they were, they obeyed their queen's command, not daring to say or do anything else.

The throne she ruled on was unsturdy though, built on cunning lies and false promises. It took very little to make it come crashing to the ground—barely a flick of the wrist. Maybe they don't have to stand and kill her. Maybe they could do it from their knees.

She hoped they'd be dead by the time they realized the gold she promised them was fool's, for it doesn't take much to kill queen without her guard.

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

In a little less than a day, she had built a castle littered with traps, turns, and many twists. She felt safe for the first time in the games, protected by her mind's work.

After finding the map of the Capitol yesterday, she had an epiphany. The capitol put them in a maze of their own creation; they were nothing more than lab rats in a smaller version of their perfect Panem. In the Capitol's eyes, they were merely mice. And although she didn't know how to catch humans, she'd spent the last seven years of her life learning to catch them. If the capitol didn't think the tributes and mice were any different, why wouldn't catching them be the same?

In and around the barn, she had placed traps with the supplies she had forged at the cornucopia. Snares, springs, trip wires, everything she could think of she made. No one would be getting in her hiding place without going through hell first.

So far, there had been little action. Late last night, one of her traps had caught an actual mouse, which she had found quite ironic. However, through the dirt-stained window, she had seen no tributes or mutts, which she was grateful for. The longer she stayed away from the action, the better off she'd be.

The inside of the barn was eerily quiet. A few mice squeaked and rumbled around in the walls around her, and outside, a light wind whistled. To pass time, she read a book she had discovered at the cornucopia. _Edible Plants and Insects: A Survivalist's Guide_ , the cover read. Although she'd never probably put the book to use, it was at least a way to forget about the constant doom and death surrounding her.

She was on page 32 when she heard a shrill scream from outside. Gasping, she dropped the book in shock and nervously scurried over to the window. _Please don't be a career. Please don't be a career._ Thankfully, it wasn't. Caught in her snare was the short girl from District Five, dangling from the lone tree in the vicinity by a leg. Below her were two boys, most likely her allies.

"Help! Help! Help!" The girl was shrieking, her arms thrashing in all directions. "Help! Help!" Through the dirtied glass, Sereina could see her pale face. She instantly felt sorry. The trap wasn't meant to catch innocent and non-threatening people like her. It was meant to catch the careers or older and stronger tributes, and hopefully scare them away from her trap-filled hideout.

The taller of the boys was smirking wildly, while the other stared up at her with frightened eyes.

"Get me down from here!" The girl screamed, still thrashing about like a fish out of water. "I don't want to die! Get me down!"

Neither of the boys moved. They just stared up at her like she was an alien with two heads.

"Why aren't you moving? We don't have all day! Cut me down!" She yelped.

Then, as if she had pulled a trigger, the smaller of the two boys instantly leaped into action and pulled a knife out of his pocket. He scurried over to his dangling ally and began to saw away at the rope she had hung. Sereina ducked down, seeing the taller of the boy's eyes creep towards the window.

After a few minutes of sawing, the boy had cut through the rope. The dangling girl came crashing towards the ground, hitting her head on the ground with a thud.

"A little harder next time," she scoffed, standing to her feet and brushing the dirt from her shirt angrily.

"Sorry," the smaller boy replied, his face turning red.

Sereina was surprised how thin the barn walls were, for she could hear almost perfectly through them. She made a mental note not to make any loud movements when they were nearby, for they might be alerted to her presence.

After wiping the dirt off of her clothes, the girl spoke again. "Let's get out of here, this place is giving me the creeps," she declared, beginning to pad away.

The taller of the boys cocked his head. "But shouldn't we look for a tribute near here?" He asked, a puzzled expression plastered on his face. "If there is a trap, there has to be someone who built it nearby."

Sereina felt her heart drop in her stomach. Her breaths began to grow short and shallow, and a wave of nervousness passed through her body. _Please don't look. Please don't look._

"They are probably gone," the girl replied quickly, continuing to walk without turning back to face her allies. Saying she looked a bit shaken up was an understatement. Her entire body was shaking, and her face was white as snow. "Let's just go, there will be more tributes in other parts of the arena. Plus, this one doesn't fight fair."

She smirked at the reference to herself.

The smaller one nodded his head and raced to catch up with the girl. He was convinced. However, the boy hung back, seeming to have another opinion. Sereina felt her heart drop again.

"I said let's go!" The girl ordered, and the boy jolted to life and trotted after her.

Then, as soon as they had come they had left—gone off to find another tribute who wanted to give them a fair fight. Sereina couldn't help but wonder if she'd see them again, and if so, if they'd all be in one piece. She highly doubted it.

* * *

 **A/N: A little check-in on some characters before things get crazy, which will be probably next chapter. We'll see though, things don't always go to plan. But I've been planning this for a while. I guess this was a little calm before the storm, because next chapter, things are going to get heated!**

 **And on another note, this is the first chapter where no one died! Yippee! At the rate people were dying, we were only going to make it to like day 5, which is too short a games for me. They'll be longer, don't worry.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Career Pair: Eris, Alaric**

 **Queen and her Servants: Lux, Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Girls (Previously) on Fire: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Confident: Celeste, Raleigh**

 **Loners: Sereina, Arilli**

 **paper :)**


	36. Night 3: Left for Dead

_Night 3: Left For Dead_

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18, District 8 Female._

Her burns didn't even hurt anymore. All she felt was her throat—her dry, cracking, brittle throat that burned more than any fire ever could. And she knew just how much fire burned. After all, she was covered in bubbling blisters—fresh wounds from the hell she had just escaped from yesterday.

She hadn't drunk water in more than three days. Every lake or river she stumbled upon had seemed to magically dry up, and although there was substantial evidence that water was there recently, there was none. It was as if it were hiding from her, there one moment, then gone the next.

There was no doubt in her mind that this was the Capitol's doing—this was what they saved her for. After what she proclaimed in the Capitol and during the early days of the games, they couldn't just give her a quick death. Dying in a fire would be too easy, undeserving of the hideous rebel girl that she was. Her death needed to be prolonged, drawn out much further than it should be. For the Capitol to be satisfied, she needed to _suffer._

However, if they thought she was just going to give up, they were wrong. She'd search for water until her last dying breath; as long as she could help it, the Capitol would never get the satisfaction they craved so viciously. If she was going down, she was going to go down fighting. They wouldn't break her. She won't let them.

All of a sudden, a wave of nausea fell over her. She collapsed to her knees, the world around her spinning like she was on a children's carousel. Opening her mouth to vomit, nothing came out. Only air spilled out—as invisible as the Capitol's cameras that surely were watching her, yet they were there nonetheless. She hadn't eaten in three days. She hadn't drunk water in three days. There was nothing inside her but crimson blood and shriveling organs. She had nothing left to excrete. Only air.

Her body told her to stop—to stay on the ground and die right there. Everything inside her was shouting surrender, yet she won't give up. She needed to show the capitol, even in her dying breaths, she was stronger then they'll ever be. So, she stood to her feet once more and drudged on, searching wishfully for water that no longer existed.

As she walked, a thought breached her mind. _What if she stole water from another tribute?_ She scowled at the sheer thought of it, remembering that stealing went against her morals. Her mother had taught her from a young age that stealing was wrong, and in her heart, she knew it was. However, this was different. She was dying. _Surely an exception could be made for a dying girl?_

No. She wouldn't do it. She had promised herself the games wouldn't change her, and she'd die the way she went in: a valiant rebel. She'd get water some other way, there had to be some stream or lake somewhere that the Capitol had yet to touch.

There just had to be.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District 12 Male._

Exhaustion was beginning to take over his body. His eyelids drooped and his legs were beginning to burn with soreness from walking nonstop for the past five or so hours. The backpack on his shoulders felt heavier than ever as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his back. Beside him, Jaxs looked equally if not more exhausted, barely able to keep up with Lux's fast pace.

"Lux, can we please stop?" Cinder questioned, his tired voice barely able to squeak out the words. "It's getting dark, and since we haven't found any tributes all day I don't think we'll find any at night."

His ally ignored him, continuing to trudge on. From all the extra sleep and nutritious she'd been eating, she had more energy than the two of them combined. On the other hand, Cinder and Jaxs both hadn't had a good night's sleep the past two nights and had only eaten the leftovers Lux didn't want. They were in awful shape, barely able to walk without falling to the ground.

"Lux, Jaxs and I are really tired," Cinder spoke again. "If we could just rest for one minute, then w—"

Lux cut him off. "No, we have to keep walking," she replied sternly. "We haven't found any tributes yet today, and if we don't find any, my whole plan will be ruined! Do you want that to happen Cinder? Do you want us to die because you were just a little bit tired?"

Cinder whimpered. "No," he squeaked. "But I can't see anything anymore."

"Then turn on your flashlight!" Lux roared, not stopping for even a second. Jaxs was beginning to fall behind, his steps slower than a sloth's.

Nodding his head quickly, Cinder grabbed his flashlight out of his pocket. He shined it in Jaxs' direction, trying to see the condition that his friend was in. From what he could see, it wasn't good.

"Need help?" Cinder asked, falling back to walk with Jaxs. "I can carry another bag if you are too tired."

Jaxs shook his head, giving Cinder a weak smile. "It's alright, I think I can manage. Thanks though."

"Yeah, no problem," Cinder replied. "Its what friends do."

The two walked in silence for a few minutes, listening to the soft sounds of the night. Currently, they were walking through a pine forest filled with glowing fireflies and chirping crickets. If he wasn't in a place where death was always on his mind, he could say that the night was actually quite calm and peaceful. A cool breeze blew through his rustled hair, sending a chill up his spine and waking him up a little bit.

"Faster!" Lux snapped when the two of them fell far enough behind her. He and Jaxs hurried his pace, desperate to keep up with Lux's standards.

"You know," Jaxs whispered after some time. "Sometimes I wonder if Lux has our best interests in mind. Sometimes it feels like she only cares about herself."

Cinder shook his head back and forth, yet inside, he knew what Jaxs was saying had some truth to it. "She's our ally," he defended her. "She has to care about us."

Jaxs shrugged. "Well, sometimes it feels like she doesn't."

"Her plan might not seem good right now, but she's getting us to the end," Cinder murmured. "If she's getting us to the end, she must care about us."

"I think she only cares about herself," Jaxs muttered. "If she really cared about us she'd let us stop and rest. We probably look like walking zombies right now, that's how tired we are. She's getting herself to the end, that's what she's doing."

Cinder didn't respond. _Lux cared about them, she had to. She was their ally after all. Allies cared for and looked after each other. That's what always happened in the past. But in the past, no tribute had ever made their allies walk for hours on end without break. What if Lux was different?_

"She's not," he whispered after some time. "She cares about us."

"Be quiet!" Lux hissed, shining her flashlight in their faces. "You two are louder than roaring bears. What are you trying to do, scare all the tributes off?"

Then, Cinder heard something rustle in the bushes beside him. He gulped, hoping it wasn't what he thought it was. Maybe if he ignored it whoever it was would just go away. Or maybe it wasn't even someone at all. It was probably just a stupid squirrel.

The bushes rustled again, and Cinder could barely breathe.

"What's that?" Lux asked, stopping for the first time in hours. "I heard something near you, Cinder. Do you see anything?"

Cinder stared back at her with wide eyes, afraid of what he would see if he looked. _What if it was a tribute?_ He didn't need more blood on his hands, especially not after Abrielle and Nerida. And most of all, he just didn't want to die.

Another rustle.

"Well, is it anything?" Lux inquired, tilting her head to the side. Jaxs was huffing behind him, just thankful that they had finally stopped walking and he could have his break they so desperately wanted.

Tensing, Cinder angled his flashlight in the direction of the sound. The rustling stopped, and he found himself staring right into the eyes of the one person he hoped he'd never see in the arena again.

 _Arilli._

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze around her. Nothing existed but her and Cinder, their wide and frightened eyes interlocked in a stalemate. Time stood still like an unmoving statue in a museum from an era long ago. She knew seconds were passing; they had to be, but each one felt longer than the next, an eternity plus some.

The bright light of Cinder's lantern almost blinded her. In the dark of the night, it seemed to be brighter than the blazing midday sun. She instantly became sick, her knees ready to buckle and give way beneath her. However, they didn't, her body unwavering. She wanted to run, to get as far away from this damned place as she could, yet her body wouldn't comply. It didn't move, stuck in what felt like quicksand surrounding her feet.

 _Run_ , he mouthed. She didn't budge.

"What the hell is in there Cinder?" Lux asked, craning her neck around to get a better view. _Move_ , she told her body. _Move._ Yet, it didn't. She stood as still as she had a moment before, her body a statue.

She saw the light flicker off. "Nothing," Cinder replied a little too quickly, turning back towards Lux. "It was nothing."

"God, if you were staring at it like it was a two-headed monster, it wasn't nothing," Lux growled, pointing her flashlight in Arilli's direction.

"You're right!" Cinder exclaimed quickly. "You're right, you're right! It was a squirrel, that was all! I'm just surprised because I've never seen a squirrel before."

Lux rolled her eyes, and Arilli tried desperately to get her body to move. Still nothing. She just felt like she was going to puke.

"Don't lie to me Cinder," Lux scolded, her light resting on Arilli. "I know it's your little friend, I could see her from a mile away. I just wanted to know if you would tell me the truth or not, and apparently—"

"Arilli, run!" Cinder squeaked, interrupting Lux midsentence. His voice was shrill like a frightened puppy. "Go! Get out of here! She's going to kill you!"

With that, Arilli's body snapped back into reality. Seconds were seconds again, and she was no longer frozen in time. Reaching into her pocket, she gripped her knife tightly in her left hand. This was it. She was going to kill Lux. The devil was going to die, right here, right now. Cinder would help her—they'd defeat her together. Then she'd get her only friend back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lux questioned, her jaw dropping. "She's your enemy, you need to kill her Cinder! It's part of my plan, the plan that will save us and get us to the end!"

Cinder ignored Lux and looked at her with wide eyes. "I said get out of here!" He yelped.

Arilli looked at Lux, then to Jaxs, then finally, back to Cinder. Jaxs, with a knife already in his hand, looked ready to send it hurling towards her. If she fought them right now, at least one of them would die, most likely Cinder. She couldn't let that happen.

Turning away from the trio, she broke into a sprint.

"Go after her!" Lux screeched, yet she heard no footsteps behind her. She only heard Cinder's sharp and forceful reply, echoing through the forest as she ran.

"No."

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18, District 5 Male._

"What do you mean, no?" Lux inquired, her lips curving into a frown.

"No," Cinder rebuked. "I'm not killing her."

"Why not?" Lux spat.

Jaxs stood behind the two of them, his eyes flickering between his alliance members and the running girl. She was getting further and further away, Lux would probably want him to go after her. Yet, he didn't want to. Like Cinder, he was done listening to Lux and her impossible demands.

"Friends don't kill other friends, but then again, I don't think you would know that," Cinder replied harshly. "With the way you treat me and Jaxs, I doubt you've ever had a real friend in your life."

Jaxs snickered. That was probably true.

"What did you just say to me?" Lux asked, her jaw dropping in shock.

Cinder grinned. "I said you never had any friends because you are a mean person who treats other people like they are nothing."

Lux scoffed. "Why would you say that? I care about you two very dearly, and I think I treat you fine."

Snorting, Jaxs rolled his eyes. "Sure, you do. Why don't you let us use your sleeping bag then?"

"Yeah, show how much you care about us and try sharing," Cinder growled. "Ever heard of it?"

"Shut up!" Lux roared. "Both of you! That damned girl is getting away and you two morons are standing here like it's social hour! Go after her, and don't come back until she is dead!"

"No," Cinder repeated. "I already told you I'm not killing her."

"Then as the leader and brains of this alliance, I demand you to kill her," she commanded.

Cinder narrowed his eyes at her. "You demand nothing," he challenged. "You aren't the boss of me."

"Kill her or you are out of the alliance!" Lux screeched, getting impatient now. Arilli was completely out of their sight now—enveloped by the darkness of the night.

"Fine, kick me out," Cinder spat, throwing his bow down at her feet. His ash-colored eyes sparkled with anger, an emotion Jaxs had yet to see from the young boy. "I'm done. I'm done listening to your orders, and I'm done being your personal servant. I treat you with the utmost kindness and respect but you just treat me like I'm trash. You act like you own me—like you are superior to me because you have an _amazing_ brain and have a plan that will get us to the end. You tell us that you care about us, but someone who cares about me wouldn't steal my food and make me sleep on the dirt for two nights in a row while they get a warm sleeping bag and a comfortable pillow! You claim that you are my friend, but friends don't make other friends kill each other! And most of all, I'm done with you, because you are the first person I've ever met in my life who doesn't deserve my kindness."

Taking off the heavy backpack on his shoulders, Cinder flung it at Lux violently. "You can have all the food now for all I care! Take it, take it all, because even all the things in the world won't ever be enough to satisfy your greedy soul!"

Then, he whipped around and began to stomp off, leaving the two of them to wonder what had just happened.

Lux stared at Cinder, her jaw hanging open in awe. "You can't just walk off like that!" She shouted after Cinder. "Get back here, I order you!"

"You don't tell me what to do anymore!" Cinder screamed, turning back to face her. "I told you we are done!" Even through the dark of the night, Jaxs could see that his former ally's face was flushed red with anger, his body shaking with adrenaline.

Cinder kept walking. Lux grew more infuriated, her nostrils beginning to flare.

"Take one more step and I'll kill you!" Lux threatened. Cinder didn't stop, continuing to pad further and further away from them.

"I'd rather die than spend one more day in hell with you," Cinder retorted, taking one more step into the dark of the night.

"Then I guess you are going to die," Lux hissed. "Jaxs, kill the traitor."

Jaxs' gaze flickered to Cinder, then back to Lux. Cinder had stopped and turned around now, staring at him defiantly. _Do it_ , his gaze challenged. _Kill me and prove that you too are nothing more than Lux's mindless servant_. Raising his knife, he aimed it right in between Cinder's glittering eyes. One throw and his former ally would be dead, his cannon sounding.

"Hurry up and kill him!" Lux demanded. "This doesn't have to take all night!"

Cinder blinked his ash-grey eyes. Behind his mask of confidence, Jaxs could see a flicker of fear in his gaze. He was scared, even if they didn't look it. They all were. Jaxs held his breath, his hand beginning to grow sticky with sweat.

Then, he took a deep breath in.

"Have no fears," he whispered to himself.

Then, he released.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She dropped to the ground as a silver blade twirled towards her face. Opening her mouth to scream, a frail and distressed squeak was the only thing that came out. Thankfully, her reflexes were fast enough and the knife sailed inches above her head, hitting a tree behind her with a thud.

"What in the world was that?" She screeched, her entire body shaking with fear. "Don't you have aim?"

Jaxs just stared back at her with wide eyes, stunned that he actually just did that. He opened his mouth to respond but only silence came out.

His face was paler than the moon, and she instantly knew that that knife had been no mistake. Her allies, obedient and mindless as they were, had finally turned on her. She had pushed too hard, and finally, they had snapped. Maybe she should have let them use her sleeping bag. Now it was her who looked pale, her face flushed the color of freshly fallen snow.

She felt like she was going to faint. The dark world began to spin around her. For the first time in the games, she felt afraid. With her protectors turned against her, who would be there to save her from the constant death encircling her? Certainly not herself, who was too unskilled with anything but her words, which now, had failed too.

"Yes," Jaxs replied softly after some time. "Yes, I do."

Lux squeaked, quickly picking up the backpack Cinder had thrown angrily at her minutes before. At the same time, Jaxs grabbed another knife, clutching it feverishly in his hand. Cinder stood a few feet away, his eyes as wide as a young child's.

"Don't move," Jaxs ordered, holding the knife threateningly in her direction. If Lux ran now, dropped the bag and sprinted into the dark woods behind her, how far would she get until she was caught? Not far. She was a slow runner, and Cinder, even in his current sleep-deprived state, could probably catch her with all the adrenaline flowing through his veins. Her best move was to succeed and hope that her allies had mercy.

She dropped the bag onto the floor, holding her hands up in the air. Then, she began to back slowly into the woods behind her.

"I said don't move!" Jaxs snapped. Lux stopped dead in her tracks, her face going paler.

Turning, Jaxs looked to Cinder. "It's your call buddy. What do we do with her?"

Cinder stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury. Lux gulped. She had never seen Cinder look so angry—had she really made him this upset?

Grabbing the knife out of Jaxs' hand, Cinder took another step closer to Lux. She felt a chill run down her spine and looked at Cinder with wide eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to let her go. He was a kindhearted kid, he wouldn't kill her, _right?_ She hoped.

"Look—Cinder—I—" she stuttered.

The young boy cut her off. "Shut up," he spat. "I'm the one in charge now, I make the rules."

"Oka—"

"I said shut it!" Cinder yelled. Lux shivered as he took another step forward. The hand his knife was plastered in shook violently.

He took another step. Now he was only a sword length away, his blazing eyes glaring right into her own. She averted them, looking down at the hard ground. _He wouldn't kill her. He wouldn't kill her._ Yet, she didn't believe her own words.

Suddenly, she broke into a sprint, dropping her flashlight and running into the dark unknown. But before she could get very far, two hands pushed her down towards the hard earth.

For a second, she was falling, soaring through the crisp night air. She felt as free as a bird, but then it was over, and she was brought back to reality, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Her knees scraped against the forest floor, crimson blood beginning to ooze out.

She was flipped over onto her back, a pair of eyes staring down at her. However, where she expected to see hatred, she only saw confusion and hurt.

Cinder didn't speak, but his eyes said what words could not. _Why did you do this?_ They asked. _Why are you such a horrible person? Why did you hurt me?_

"Please!" Lux cried out. "I don't want to die! I'll do _anything, anything!_ I'll get as far away from you as possible, if you want you'll never have to see my face again! I just don't want to die! Please, don't kill me Cinder! I know you are a good person, you don't have to do this!"

"It's too late for you," Cinder growled, bending down and pressing the knife to her throat. Lux tried to scramble away, but Jaxs had come from behind, holding her body down against the ground.

"Please, I beg you!" Lux pleaded. "Don't kill me!"

Cinder scoffed. "You know who said those same exact words when I killed her? Abrielle. And you know why I remember that? Because I can't get her out of my head. She haunts me every night when I go to sleep, and every morning when I wake up—Nerida too!" Tears welled in his eyes, illuminated by the faint light of the flashlight a few feet away. "And you know why they were dead? Because you made me kill them! Their blood is in your hands too Lux!"

Now, silver droplets were rolling down Cinder's cheeks, falling on Lux's pale face. Lux was crying too—yet her tears weren't for Abrielle or Nerida. Although their deaths were her fault, she only saw them as two casualties on the road to her victory—two sacrifices that had to be made in order for her to win. Instead, she shed tears for herself—for her death that was about to happen.

"Please!" She yelped. "I don't want to die!"

Cinder pressed the knife down harder, drawing blood. His entire body was shaking, and her's was too. Lux screamed. But then, as soon as it had come the pressure was gone, and Cinder's frightened eyes were gazing back down at her sadly.

"But the killing ends here," Cinder declared, dropping the knife onto the floor. "I won't have any more blood on my hands, even if it's yours."

Lux clutched her neck, trying to stop the blood rushing out. Cinder hadn't inflicted a major wound—just enough to make her bleed and feel it.

"Let's go Jaxs," Cinder told his friend, helping him to his feet. Then the two set off, taking all the supplies and leaving Lux all by herself, completely exposed and unprotected.

The throne of glass had shattered, leaving a million broken pieces and no one to pick them up.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

They were walking through a field of grass that stretched on for what seemed like forever until it faded away into the darkness. So far today, their tribute hunt had been unsuccessful and had only ended in sore legs and tired eyes. Still, Alaric and Eris marched on, hoping to lower the number of remaining tributes to ten by the time the capitol anthem played.

In the distance, a wolf howled. Alaric laughed, howling back at it.

"Stop it," Eris growled. "You'll scare off any tributes within a five-mile radius."

Rolling his eyes playfully, Alaric snorted. "Well, I haven't scared you off yet."

"Yet," Eris retorted, his lips beginning to curve into a smile. But then as soon as it came it disappeared, his solemn and serious ally returning to his normal self.

They walked for a little bit more, the long grass crunching under their feet. Another wolf howled. This one was louder than the last.

"Any bets on who we'll find first?" Alaric inquired, gripping his sword in his hand tightly as he heard the howling noise again.

Eris shrugged. "The girl from Three?" He echoed back.

Alaric nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, I think so too. I was watching her in training and she didn't look that strong at all. I'm surprised she's made it this far."

"Well, she did get a seven in training," Eris replied. "She has to have something that the gamemakers liked; she must have something that would let her survive this long."

He shook his head back and forth. "She looked weak and completely unskilled to me," Alaric pointed out. "I bet she slept with the gamemakers so they would give her that score."

In the distance, a silhouette of a building loomed. Alaric pointed his flashlight towards it. It was a barn—a perfect hiding spot for a meek tribute like the girl from Three.

Another wolf howled—this one even louder than the last. Turning around, Alaric pointed his flashlight in the direction of the sound. He expected to see nothing—just more darkness and grass. Instead, his beam of light shined right into the eyes of six hungry wolves, each of their mouth's frothing with a hunger for human flesh.

"Eris, behind you!" Alaric shouted as he unsheathed his sword. His ally quickly spun around, pulling out his kopis defensively. The pack of wolves began to surround them, their yellow eyes blazing brightly in the darkness.

"Crap," his ally breathed.

"Crap indeed," Alaric muttered, eyeing the wolves as they encircled the two of them. "Maybe I shouldn't have howled back. They probably thought I was some pretty she-wolf who wanted to be their mate. I mean, my howl was pretty realistic, r—"

"Shut up!" Eris hissed, cutting Alaric off. "If we don't talk, maybe they won't see us."

"And what kind of logic is that?" Alaric questioned, raising his voice to spite his ally. "I mean, it might work if you have a death wish, but if you want to live, I don't think your advice is all that great," he knew this wasn't the time for jokes, but they always made him feel a bit better in tough situations. It didn't make the threat of death feel as present if he was laughing about it.

"Stop it with your jokes and get behind me," Eris ordered.

Alaric smirked, not taking his eyes off of the growling wolves. "I don't want to look at your butt Eris if that's why you want me to get behind you."

"Just do it!" Eris shouted, angering one of the wolves. It leaped into the air, it's sharp fangs glittering in the faint moonlight. Alaric, mimicking the wolf's motions, started towards it, his sword angled right between its eye. Then, when the wolf was merely inches away, Alaric swiped his sword across its face, cutting into its flesh. The wolf let out a distressed yelp, falling backward. Its face dripped red with crimson blood. Then, chaos broke loose.

Three of the wolves leaped at Eris, while the other two leaped at Alaric. He felt a pair of strong jaws clench down on his left leg, digging deep into his flesh. He screamed in pain, his knees buckling beneath the heavy weight of his upper body. The second wolf bit as his arm, sending drops of blood splattering all over the wolf's furry face.

Taking his sword, Alaric slashed at the second wolf's chest, barely cutting through its flesh. The wolf leaped backward, narrowly dodging a critical blow. With his uninjured leg, Alaric kicked at the other wolf, hitting it square on the nose with his boot. The wolf skid backward and into the long grass.

Meanwhile, Eris was barely fending off the other three wolves, fresh wounds littering his body. One of his wolves had fled, yet the other two still fought, their eyes blazing with anger. Another had appeared, circling Eris hungrily. Alaric had a feeling that his ally would not be making it out alive, and once the wolves finished him off, they'd come for him next. There was no way he would be able to take on four wolves alone, let alone the two that he was dealing with now.

The first wolf leaped at him again, yet this time, he was ready. He rolled out of the way as the vicious animal landed on the patch of grass where he was previously kneeling. The wolf growled, jumping into the air. While the world was in mid-jump, Alaric slid forwards and raked his sword across the underside of the wolf's belly, opening up a bloody gash that spanned the entire length of the wolf's underside. The wolf howled and fell to the grass, limp as a ragdoll.

Coughing up blood, the career staggered to his feet, eyeing the second wolf that was glaring at him hungrily. Then, out of nowhere, another wolf leaped towards him, its jaws parted and fangs sharp. Alaric let out a shriek of surprise as it collided with his body, causing him to let go of his sword. It went flying across the grassy field, landing at the feet of the other wolf.

Shit. He hit the ground with a loud thud, the wolf on top of his back. It was tearing at his jacket, trying to get through to the flesh. Alaric growled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small dagger. Then, he let out a roar and twisted around, plunging the dagger right into the wolf's throat.

The wolf slumped to the ground, its eyes glazing over. Pulling the bloody knife out of the wolf's throat, Alaric slowly staggered to his feet. Another wolf was eyeing him, his sword under the animal's legs. Alaric gulped. He couldn't fight the wolf with a dagger, let alone the other wolves once they finished off Eris.

His leg oozed with blood, so much so that it was painful to merely stand. A few feet away, Eris was a bloody mess, slashing his sword in the air, trying to keep the wolves at bay. It was somewhat working. He had killed one, and two more remained, plus the wolf that was eying Alaric hungrily. He looked back towards the wolf, then towards Eris once more.

Suddenly, to Eris' and the wolf's surprise, he broke into a sprint, leaving his ally behind to fight the three remaining wolves

"Alaric!" Eris screamed after him. "Alaric!"

He didn't turn back. Alaric wasn't a fool like some others at the academy had been. He knew when enough was enough; he knew when the battle was lost. He couldn't fight a trio of wolves with a dagger, especially when he was already injured. If he wanted to survive, he couldn't just fight. He needed to know when to run too, and that time was now.

"Alaric, get back here! Get back here you coward!" His ally shrieked. Alaric didn't look back, continuing to run. He did like Eris, yet when tasked with the choice to choose between his life and his ally's, he would choose his every time. This was a selfish game; only one person could win. He knew that all alliances were temporary, and when the time was right, they would come to an end. This was the end.

One of the wolves was chasing him, fast on Alaric's trail. He only had a minute or so before the wolf caught up to him, and he knew he'd have no choice but to fight.

"Alaric! Alaric!" His ally's voice was growing fainter, yet Alaric kept running. The wolf was only a few feet away now.

Suddenly, Alaric felt something strange crunch beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw a fishing net buried in the grass. He tried to jump, but it was too late. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already six feet in the air, his knife buried in the thick grass. A net surrounded him, held up by four strings connected to a tree branch a few feet higher. He was caught in a trap.

The wolf had finally caught up, standing feet below him on the grassy ground. Alaric swore under his breath. With no knife and nowhere to run, this was the end. He was going to die. Right here. Right now. This was it.

The wolf leaped into the air, it's fangs glistening in the faint moonlight. Alaric stayed completely silent, watching the wolf with wide eyes. There was no use shouting for help—no one would hear him anyway. Well, no one besides Eris, but that bridge was already burned.

Alaric braised himself for the pain that was about to come. However, he felt none. The wolf's hungry jaws narrowly missed his bloodied leg by a few centimeters before it went crashing back to the ground. The wolf tried again, leaping high into the air. However, it was no to avail, gravity bringing its furry body back to the ground again.

For what felt like hours, the wolf leaped into the air, narrowly missing Alaric's trapped body every time. Then, after it's thirtieth or so try, it let out a growl of disappointment and stalked away. Alaric breathed a sigh of relief.

"Take that wolf!" He howled after it. "No one beats Alaric Pyre!"

For a few minutes, the career sat in silence, the blood on his leg beginning to dry and turn brown. He waited for Eris' cannon, but he heard nothing. There was only silence, and the faint howl of one wolf in the distance.

Bored, he began to count in his head to pass time. _One, two, three, four, five..._ No cannon. _Six, seven, eight, nine, ten..._ No cannon. _Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty..._ No cannon. _One hundred, two hundred, three hundred..._ _No cannon. Could it be possible that his ally was still alive?_

Then, he heard footsteps walk below him. With no flashlight, he couldn't see who or what it was. Yet, he had an idea, and when the person spoke, his suspicions were confirmed.

"Look at what the cat dragged in," Eris cooed, flickering on his flashlight and shining it right up at Alaric. Looking down, he saw the bruised body of his ally, who was covered in blood head to toe.

"You mean look at what the wolf dragged in," Alaric corrected, giving his ally a smirk.

Eris growled, drawing his sword. "Did I ask for your input?"

"No, but I gave it to you," Alaric retorted, still grinning. "By the way, you look a mess. Maybe you should consider taking a shower?"

"Shut up."

"Alright, well can you at least cut me down?" Alaric asked, tugging on the net like an impatient child. "I need to pee."

Eris laughed for the first time that night. "Actually, I was thinking about leaving you up there," he chuckled, brushing the blood off of his sword with his finger.

Alaric frowned. "I really need to pee though."

"Then I guess you'll just have to hold it."

Huffing, Alaric rolled his eyes. "But you can't just leave me hanging," he grumbled. "And the pun was intended if you caught that there. But that last pun was unintended, I didn't necessarily mean for you to catch that—"

"Just shut up!" Eris roared in frustration. "You are so annoying, you know that?"

Alaric grinned again. "I try."

Eris stomped his foot down on the ground, growing more impatient. "You are supposed to be begging for me to let you down, apologizing for leaving me back there! You are supposed to be crying, not laughing like this is some kind of joke!"

"Well, I think it's pretty funny," Alaric replied plainly.

"Oh my god!" Eris screamed. "You know what? If you think this is so funny, I wonder how funny you'll think me leaving you here is!"

"Well I already left you back there, so technically, you can't leave me because I already left you," Alaric chuckled. "Unless I really didn't leave you and you left me back there, which in that case y—"

"Shut it!" Eris roared. "As you know, I believe th—"

"An eye for an eye, your whole honor code, blah blah blah," Alaric interrupted, barely able to contain his massive grin.

"Shut up and just listen for once in your life!" Eris yelled. "So, as revenge, I'm going to leave you here for dead, like you left me back there. A—"

"But I already said that it's not physically possible for you to leave me because I already left you, s—"

"You know what? I'm done with this," he spat, throwing Alaric's sword onto the ground. "I'm just going to go. I was going to taunt you with your sword, but I'm done. I'm just done."

"Oh, you found my sword! How kind of you!" Alaric cheered, clapping his hands together delightedly. Eris growled, growing angrier with every passing second.

"I'm done," he spat, turning and walking into the darkness. "I hope you rot in hell Alaric."

"I can't wait for it!" Alaric yelled at him, but he was already gone, enveloped in the black of the night.

* * *

 **A/N: I still don't know how I managed to not kill anyone off in that chapter, goodness. Anyways, what did you all think? I've been waiting to write the Cinder/Lux/Arilli/Jaxs since the reapings, and now it's here! It turned out alright, for all the time I've had to think about it, it came out a little lackluster in my opinion, but I hope you all liked it none the less! Also, this chapter turned out a little bit longer then expected, so I had to bump Tesserae's scene to the next chapter but we haven't seen her in a while so we'll see her soon.**

 **Please go vote in the poll if you haven't, and although my final eight is pretty set in stone, it might help me determine some things farther down the road like a winner, because goodness, I've had like ten people in mind for that slot already, and we are only at day 3.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Freedom: Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Girls (Previously) on Fire: Tesserae, Grace**

 **Confident and Have a Plan Now to Take Out an Alliance That no Longer Exists: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **Loners: Eris, Alaric, Sereina, Lux, Arilli**


	37. Day 4, Part I: Desperate Times

_Day 4, Part I: Desperate Times_

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

When she woke up on the morning of her fourth day in the arena, the sky was still stained the color of a feathery raven's wing. She yawned and rolled over onto her side, hoping that she'd be able to go back to sleep again. The more time she was sleeping, the less time she was spending thinking about death, and right now—she'd do almost anything not to think about it.

However, her stomach had other plans. It rumbled louder then claps of thunder, twisting and turning inside her. Sereina had no choice but to submit to her gut's will and eat.

Flicking on a flashlight, she crawled out of her sleeping bag. A chill instantly ran down her spine, and she reached for her jacket. She had forgotten how cold mornings could be.

Shuffling across the dirty floor, she made her way towards her supply stash. It was dwindling, but she still had enough things to last her a few more days. After all, she had taken enough food and water for a week, and today was only day four. She had at least three more days to go before she ran out.

Yet, as she zipped and unzipped the bags, she couldn't find one crumb of food. All the bags were torn open, the contents missing. Puzzled, she stared hungrily at the empty bags, wondering what happened. _How had all her food disappeared so quickly?_

In the opposite corner of the barn, she heard a high-pitched squeak. Growling, she instantly recognized the sound from her mice-catching days back in her home district. Mice. The mice had eaten all of her food. She should have known better having dealt with them for the past few years of her life. Like her, they were thieves, stealing every morsel and drop they could get their greasy little paws on.

Her stomach rumbled again, and she sighed. If she wanted to eat, she would need to go get food outside. Sifting through a yellow backpack, she pulled out the tattered map of the arena, staring at it sadly in the dim light provided by her lantern. She didn't want to leave, as she was safe here in her booby-trapped barn. Yet, she couldn't stay here forever. She'd starve eventually. There was only one choice: she had to leave in search of food. The question was when.

If she moved as little as possible, she could probably stay here for another week without food. However, she knew the Capitol would coax her out before then anyway. This living situation was only temporary, and she'd have to leave sometime. Now was the best time, when it was still dark and no one could see her from a mile away. Plus, at this time in the morning, everyone was probably still fast asleep.

She slipped a knife she didn't know how to use in her pocket and scanned her map quickly for an area with food near the barn. In the District Eleven area, there was an orchard, and there was bound to be food there. Sereina decided that would be her first stop.

Deactivating the trap on the door, the young girl slid it open and slipped out into the cool night air. She didn't dare turn her flashlight on in case someone was near. For now, she'd have to go in the dark.

Walking across the long grass, something seemed a little bit off. A foul stench hung in the air, and the grass beneath her shoes felt wet. She assumed it was just dew, but when she bent down to tie her shoe, she realized it was coated with crimson blood.

She screamed. Her high-pitched voice echoed through the night, dying slowly as it disappeared into the chilly breeze. There was _blood_ on her foot. _Someone else's blood_. Her gut was telling her to turn back—to run into hiding like she'd been doing for the past few days. But something else told her to keep walking; _what if she didn't get another chance to get food?_ She kept going, her fingers tightly wrapped around the knife.

"Eris, is that you? You sound a little bit more feminine then I remember," a voice chuckled above her head. Sereina jumped in surprise, letting out another scream.

Her entire body began to shake, and her face turned white as freshly fallen snow. There was someone above her. Flicking on her flashlight, she angled it above her head and saw the dangling body of one of the careers trapped in her net.

"Oh, hello there," the boy greeted. Sereina's eyes widened. She hadn't expected her trap to actually catch someone, let alone a career who could kill her with one swipe of his sword.

"H—hi," Sereina stuttered, her entire body trembling like an earthquake. _He can't hurt you. He can't hurt you,_ she repeated in her head. Looking down, she saw a blood coated sword lying in the grass. She screamed again. This day was just getting worse and worse.

Sereina didn't know what to do. She couldn't kill the boy—she didn't even know how to use a knife, let alone a sword or a bow that would do real damage. However, she couldn't let him go either, or he'd kill her the second she let him free. The only thing she could do was stare in awe that her trap actually worked.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you staring was impolite?" Alaric inquired, blinking at Sereina.

She glanced at him with a puzzled expression. "Uh—I guess so?"

In the distance, the sky was beginning to turn a purplish hue. She needed to hurry if she wanted to get the food and get back to her hideout by dawn. She looked up at the tangled boy once more before flicking off her flashlight and continuing on in the direction of the orchard.

"Wait!" He yelled at her. "You aren't going to kill me?"

"No," she replied, turning back in his direction.

"Are you going to let me down then?" He asked.

"No."

"Then what are you going to do, just leave me hanging here until I starve to death?"

"Yes."

Sereina turned back in the direction of the orchard. She started off again, her knife gripped tightly in her hand.

"Wait!" The boy called again, his tone urgent.

"What?" She asked, turning back to him. This was getting a bit annoying.

"I have a proposition for you," the boy declared.

"Well, whatever it is, the answer is no," Sereina replied. "I don't trust you."

"Just hear me out."

"Fine."

"If you cut me down, we can be allies," he proposed. "I watched you during training, and you basically sucked at everything, no offense. You need me in order to survive."

Seriena raised an eyebrow at him. "Insulting others isn't a good way to make friends," she retorted, a bit hurt that he made fun of her right to her face.

"Well it's true," Alaric replied. "I don't like telling lies. You were bad with a knife, and you failed the edible plants test like five different times. I can help you with all that. I trained for two years. I know which plants are edible and which ones aren't, and I certainly know how to use a knife. I can protect you."

Sereina scowled at him. "I can protect myself, thank you very much."

"By doing what?" Alaric asked. "Hiding until the games end? You need to fight at some point, and I can help you with that. I'll teach you some of my tricks."

"What tricks?" She retorted angrily. "Like how to get caught in a trap? I'm pretty sure I don't want that one."

"Fiesty," the career chuckled. "You already have the first quality that makes you a good fighter."

Sereina rolled her eyes, turning away from the boy in the net. "The answer is no," she replied. "You only need me to cut you down, and then after that, there is no use to the partnership anymore. You'll kill me."

Beginning to walk away, the boy called after her time and time again. However, she didn't turn back. She knew better than to trust someone as desperate as he was.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She wondered if anyone would miss her when she was gone.

Through the towering pine trees, the sun was slowly rising. It peaked out from the horizon line, illuminating the sky a variety of colors. Pinks, yellows, scarlets, oranges tainted what was once black, putting on a display for her tired eyes. If she wasn't bleeding out of her neck, maybe she would've had time to take in its beauty. Or not. She never liked to watch the sunrise back in Five, anyway.

Small goosebumps littered her pale skin, and in the dim light, she watched her shallow breaths leave her mouth and disappear into the air like smoke rising out of a chimney in the dead of winter. Her ripped clothes did little to protect her from the frigid air. What she needed was a fleece blanket, but what she had was nothing. If only she hadn't pushed her allies too hard—then maybe...

Maybe nothing. Lux didn't dwell on the past, she never did. Her decisions were the only things she had when she was stripped of everything else, and she'd stand by them until she died. Her choice to volunteer for the games may have been impulsive, but at least she had been in control of her own destiny. She wasn't going to wait until she worked herself to death in some factory in five anyway because that's what was going to happen if she stood back and did nothing. This way, at least she got to taste the capitol's food, be paraded around like a prize-winning horse and adored for once in her life. Back at home no one ever paid her any mind. No one ever showed her any love or kindness, they just looked at her like a she was a nameless body that could work for pennies a day; a body that could easily be replaced with the snap a finger in a single second. She was a nobody, unimportant to everyone but herself.

At least here, if she died in the games, someone would remember her. It didn't matter if she was the villain or the hero. She just wanted someone to see that she was something more than a measly factory worker, someone to see her value: her worth. That was all she wanted. Winning would have been an added bonus, a luxury that girls like her never got. She should have known better than to get cocky. People like her—nobodies—they had nothing to be cocky about.

The tips of the leaves shimmered gold in the early morning sun like jewels on a queen's crown. She thought of her parents, dead in a grave somewhere, stripped of the precious gold and jewels they killed themselves over. Lux, for the first time in her life, envied them.

At least they had each other's love. She had nothing, no blankets, no gold, no allies, no kindness, and no one to tell her that she was worth more than all of that combined.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

She walked through a city of steel and abandoned train cars with tracks going nowhere, the sun slowly rising in the sky. The morning had been a chilly one, but it was slowly getting warmer, and the frost on the roofs of some of the buildings was beginning to disappear. She thought she heard footsteps behind her, but when she whipped around, there was only an empty street filled with an eerie silence.

"Cinder?" She squeaked, her voice echoing off the grey buildings. There was no response. She hoped there would be. After what had happened last night, she expected that Cinder would turn on Lux and come and join her. Yet, there had been no cannon after she had fled. Most likely, they hadn't split, and Lux's grip on Cinder had only tightened.

However, Cinder had saved _her_. He turned on _Lux_ to save _her_. That meant he still had some allegiance to her, whatever that was. He cared about her enough to warn her; he didn't want her to die. For Arilli, that was enough to get her through the night. He didn't think she was a monster like everyone else did.

Turning around, she continued to walk along the empty street. On the sides of them, next to the steel buildings standing as still as giant statues, cars were parked. Like everything else in the vicinity, they were empty and abandoned. Arilli felt a chill run down her spine. This place was eerie.

A few minutes later, she heard another pair of footsteps on the pavement. Whipping around, there was no one again, only skeletons of cars and still buildings. Her fingers traced the grip of her knife, yet she didn't take it out of her pocket. Her breathing quickened.

 _You're just hearing things,_ she told herself, turning around again. However, she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched, a pair of eyes locked on her. _It's just the cameras, they are everywhere_ , she tried to convince herself. It didn't work.

Even as she left the city, the feeling of being followed remained. She hoped it was Cinder, yet she knew it wasn't. Cinder wouldn't be sneaky like that, if he wanted to align with her he'd walk right up to her and say it. It had to be someone else.

It wasn't the careers either, they'd go straight for her if they spotted her. She wasn't a threat to them; they could take her down easy. And it couldn't be Jaxs, he and Cinder were attached at the hip like the twins from three. Who couldn't be following her either, their face had grassed the star-dotted sky a few nights prior.

That meant it was either the girl from three, the pair from six, the girl from seven, the girl from eight, or Lux. She hoped it wasn't the latter, but if it was, Arilli wouldn't miss the opportunity to kill her again.

Lux had taken everything from her, and now, she'd return the favor. An ally for a life. It didn't seem like a fair trade, but then again, life wasn't fair. If it was, she wouldn't be here.

No one would.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

"We should have left earlier," Celeste muttered, glancing at the purplish-red sky. "The careers are probably up by now."

"Nah," Raleigh replied. "They're careers, and they live the life of luxury in the arena. All the food they can eat, plush pillows, warm sleeping bags. I'm guessing they probably sleep until noon."

Celeste nodded her head, yet didn't look convinced. "And are you sure they are going to be at the cornucopia? What if their camp is somewhere else?"

Raleigh rolled his eyes, giving his ally a comforting pat on the shoulder. "They are always at the cornucopia. Why would this year be any different? You need to stop worrying Celeste. Everything will work itself out in the end, okay?"

"Okay," Celeste responded, yet she didn't sound too convinced.

"Confidence, remember?" He grinned at her.

Grinning back, she nodded her head more forcefully this time. "Right, confidence."

They were in the orchard again, their pace swift with the hope that they'd reach the cornucopia before the sun had made its full ascent into the sky. Raleigh gripped his newly gifted spear in his hand tightly, his fingers wrapped around its wooden handle. This money wasn't going to go to waste; he was going to make his mentor proud.

Then, a few yards away, he saw a faint silhouette of a figure by one of the orange trees. They were picking low-hanging fruit of the tree, plopping it into some sort of sac they clutched in their hand.

"Look," Celeste whispered, pointing to the figure. Apparently, she had seen it too, for she was now tightly gripping her spear, ready to attack.

Raleigh nodded his head. As they got closer, he recognized the figure to be the girl from District Three. She looked weak—her limbs thin and her face pale. He and Celeste could win this fight handily.

"Celeste, I think we should attack," Raleigh blurted out.

"Why?" His ally asked, her eyes going wide. "She didn't do anything wrong—she's just picking fruit. I bet she wouldn't hurt us, so why should we hurt her?"

"We need to take out the competition," Raleigh replied. "The fewer tributes left—the better our chances of winning become."

"But she didn't do anything wrong!" Celeste protested. "She's innocent! And what if she's a good fighter? She got a seven in training for some reason, maybe she just wanted everyone to think she's weak on purpose, so they'd underestimate her like we are doing!"

Raleigh stopped, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Celeste, remember, no what-ifs. Confidence."

His ally shut her eyes tight, taking a deep breath in. "Confidence," she repeated, blinking them open. "Confidence. You can do it, Celeste. Just don't think about it. You can do it. You need to kill people if you want to win, she'd understand. She'd probably do the same thing to you if she were in your spot. Have confidence."

Raleigh nodded his head, ducking into the tall grass at the base of the rows of trees. Slowly, he and Celeste made their way forward as silently as possible. Sereina continued to pick her fruit, still oblivious to their presence.

Shuffling through the underbrush, the pair grew closer to their target. Then, when they were only a few feet away, Raleigh launched his spear at the girl. It soared through the air, hitting her shoulder with a silent thud. She let out a frightened shriek, stumbling backward and clutching her shoulder that was now oozing with shimmering blood.

Celeste then threw her spear at the girl, yet her aim wasn't as good as Raleigh's. It soared inches above Sereina's head and hit the tree behind her, digging into its rigid bark. Raleigh swore under his breath. That was all they had. What now?

Sereina, now alerted to where the pair was hiding, dropped her bag of oranges and began to run in the opposite direction. A trail of blood followed behind her, dripping from her impaled shoulder.

"Get the spear," he instructed Celeste. "I'll go after her."

Breaking into a sprint, Raleigh followed the trail of blood that Sereina was leaving in her wake. Normally, he was the one being chased, whether it was by the careers or the authorities back at home. It felt weird that he was on the other end now, the chaser instead of the chased.

Raleigh had no trouble catching up to the injured Sereina. When he was about a foot or so behind her he leaped into the air, tackling her to the ground. She let out another frightened shriek as their bodies thumped against the hard earth, bones cracking.

With a swift tug, he easily pulled his spear out of her shoulder. She was screaming and thrashing beneath him, trying desperately to get free. However, with her thin frame and little muscle, she had no luck, Raleigh's weight keeping her grounded. Blood was everywhere—on Serina's shoulder, on their clothes, on the tip of the spearhead, and all over Raleigh's hands. He thought he was going to be sick.

Holding her head down with one hand, Raleigh hovered the spearhead above her neck with the other. Sereina still wasn't giving up, screaming and kicking. Raleigh felt something hard hit his back, yet he didn't release his grip on her head. This was going to end now.

"Don't kill me! Please! I never did anything wrong to you!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs. Celeste had arrived now and was holding the girl's legs down so she couldn't kick him any longer.

"Raleigh, I'm not so sure about this," Celeste muttered, though Raleigh could barely hear her over Sereina's desperate screams. "She's _just_ a kid."

"We're all _just_ kids," Raleigh growled, pressing the spear down on her neck. Just a bit more pressure and he'd break the skin, and he'd be one more step closer to winning.

"But she didn't do anything wrong!" Celeste protested.

"And neither did we!" Raleigh retorted, pressing down harder. He was beginning to draw blood, which only made the girl scream louder.

"Please, don't kill me! I can help you!" Sereina pleaded.

"Oh yeah?" Raleigh asked. "The only way you'd be able to help us is if you know how to take down the careers."

"I can! Please! I swear I can!" She yelped loudly.

Raleigh raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. If she knew how to take down the careers—she could be of aid to them and worth their time. However, she was probably just saying anything to buy herself another second of life.

"How?" He asked, intrigued.

"I—I caught one of them this morning, he's in my trap!" She declared. "If—if you let me live, I can show you!"

Raleigh released his hold on her neck. Although it was very likely that she was lying, there was also a small chance that she was telling the truth. After all, she had to have gotten a seven in training for some reason, perhaps making traps was it. And if he wanted to win, he needed to take chances. This was one of them.

Raleigh slid off of her, giving her the chance to stand up. However, as soon as she did, she lunged forwards, trying to make a break for it. His reflexes were quick though, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back towards him.

He pointed his spear at her nose. She let out a squeak, her eyes widening.

"If you are lying, you're dead as a doornail," he growled.

"Raleigh!" Celeste yelped.

"I mean it," he hissed at Sereina. "If he's not there, I'll kill you before you have a chance to even cry out for help."

"O—okay," Sereina stuttered, her eyes still as wide as a child's. Then, the three of them set off together, the sky now stained the same shade as the blood that coated Sereina's shoulder and Raleigh's spear. The same shade of the blood that ran through his veins; a shade that he knew he'd have to see again before the games came to an end.

* * *

 _Tesserae Bird, 15, District 6 Female._

If she wasn't in the Hunger Games, maybe she could have pretended that she was a little kid again, making an angel in the thick snow.

Only this snow was black. Buried in a field of dark ash, she lay on the ground: unmoving. Her blistered body coated in oozing burns was strewn out on the ground like an old and tattered rug that should have been thrown out long ago. Her long hair was knotted and glazed with a thick layer of soot. Stained crimson with pain, she could see nothing but red.

Sometime last night, she had fallen down and hadn't bothered to get back up. It felt better laying here; standing wasted too much energy and resulted in too much agony. Her swollen feet hurt too much anyway. The rest of her body still felt like it was ablaze, a raging fire burning her skin for the rest of eternity. _Was this what hell felt like?_ She didn't know.

A long time ago, she would have screamed. Now she no longer could, her voice dry and absent. Last night she cried and yelped for someone—anyone—to come save her. No one did. Maybe it was karma's way of paying her back for not saving Gadget and Gizmo when she had the chance. They cried and yelped for someone, anyone, to come save them. She had the chance, but she chose not to.

Now, there was no one left to save her.

She didn't regret it though, not even for a single second. She wished she did; she wished she could have regretted not saving the twins or Grace or the people at the bloodbath whose names she had never even bothered to learn. It would have been better that way if she regretted it; it would have shown that somewhere inside her, even if she was a coward, she was still a selfless one. She could pretend she was sorry, _but what difference would that make?_ The only person she would be fooling would be herself.

Not saving her fellow tributes had bought her a few more days of life, and right now, that was all she cared about. In the last few days, she had come to realize that the only thing that she feared more than being a selfish coward was death. Her whole life she had convinced herself that if she was nice in this world, she would be rewarded handsomely in the next. _But what if there was no next? What if there was only one world? What if she only had one shot to play the game of life?_ That was what scared her the most, a lifeless dark after death.

"Please," she croaked to a camera in one of the debris latent buildings beside her. Apparently, her voice hadn't completely forsaken her yet. "I don't want to die."

No response. She felt herself beginning to slip into a black unconsciousness.

"Please," she repeated, her tone slightly more urgent. "Don't let me die."

Only silence. She let out a whimper no louder than a that of a mouse, weak at best.

"I'll do anything, _anything_!" She pleaded, finding one last ounce of energy deep inside her that she thought was long gone. "If you let me live, I'll do whatever you want! I'll steal, I'll be mean, I'll even kill if I have to! Please, send me something, anything to help me, and I'll do whatever you want! I just don't want to die!"

A cool wind whistled in response, sending ashes twirling through the air like black snowflakes. Tesserae winced as they fell on her blistered skin, sending sharp pains shooting through her nerves.

"Please," she whimpered, her red stained vision beginning to fade to black. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on before submitting to the painless darkness that encircled her. "I don't want to die."

The camera didn't move, staring at her blankly. Instantly, she knew that no one was coming to save her. It didn't matter how loud she cried or what words she bargained with; nothing would work. She was alone, and there was no choice left but to submit to the ever-expanding darkness that was eating her alive.

Tesserae decided that in the face of death, heroes didn't exist. Even those who pretended that they were one-hundred percent brave or one-hundred percent selfless weren't. Despite thinking that they bleed gold, too pure for this world and too good to be corrupted by its sins, they bleed red like everyone else. There were no heroes.

At the end, there were only cowards, too afraid to save those that needed them most and too pathetic to even save themselves.

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District 1 Male._

When he returned to the cornucopia, he found it empty. All the supplies had vanished, and with it, whoever had taken them. He was alone in an empty square with no allies, little supplies, and no medicine for his wounds.

"Shit," he swore under his breath. How could he have been so ignorant as to leave it unguarded for days at a time? He should have known better. It seemed that that was a theme for these games. He should have known better than to let Lena take control of the alliance; he should have known better than to let Albert out of his sight for one measly second, and he should have known better than to let his guard down and trust the snake that was Alaric.

The city square was quiet save for a fountain bubbling on one of the far ends, near a glass building that stretched endlessly into the sky. Eris sighed, placing his blood-soaked sword on the hot pavement and heading over to the fountain. If nothing else, he could at least wash up before heading out again in search of a tribute to kill and take their supplies.

His skin and clothes were still stained with crimson blood from the wolf attack the previous night. When Alaric had abandoned him like a coward, Eris was left to fight three wolves alone. He had barely made it out with his life, scratches, and wounds festering from his body as reminders of the attack and betrayal of his ally. It made his nostrils flare just thinking about it.

At least Alaric was getting what he deserved. Killing him would be too decent a death for a coward like himself. No, Eris had to let him _suffer_. Right now, he was probably starving, thirsty, uncomfortable, and half-dead from all the blood he lost over the past few hours. Eris found himself smiling as he took off his red socks and torn-up shoes.

Then, he stepped into the shallow pool of water at the base of the fountain. A cloud of red blood surrounded his foot before slowly dispersing to the rest of the pool. The water was a clear pinkish hue now, like a baby girl's clothes or a blooming flower in spring. He sighed, bending down and slowly easing the rest of his cut and bruised body into the shallow pool.

By the time everything but his head was submerged, the water had turned scarlet. It shimmered in the bright midday sun, reminding Eris of Lena's decapitated body, Albert swimming in a pool of blood, and a new addition to the list: Alaric's twisted body tangled in a net, drops of red falling right into the mouth of a hungry wolf barking below.

Then, as soon as it had come it had passed, and his hatred for those that had wronged him returned.

 _It's nothing_ , he told himself, only half believing his own words.

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18, District 5 Male._

"We're free!" Cinder giggled, running across the sandy strip of beach. "Free at last!"

Jaxs smiled, watching as his ally twirled and skipped around like an energetic child who had been cooped up for his entire life. Picking up grains of sand, he tossed them into the air like confetti at a birthday party. They fluttered back down to the earth, dancing through the air.

After what had happened yesterday, they decided to head back to the beach where they had spent their first night. Jaxs and Cinder vowed to do everything that they had wanted to do in the past few days, especially things that Lux had said no to originally. That included swimming in the ocean, which Lux had been furious about Jaxs even bringing up a few nights prior.

Slipping off his shirt, Jaxs threw it onto the sandy ground. Cinder was still running around like a crazed maniac; however, Jaxs didn't stop him. After all, they were free now. They could do whatever they wanted, including running around a beach half-naked like a deranged lunatic.

"Freedom!" Jaxs roared, launching himself towards the water. He ripped across the sand, his feet tearing grains of sand into the air behind him. Then, when he was inches away from the lapping waves, he flung himself into the air, his body sailing towards the crystal blue ocean.

However, as soon as the tips of his toes slid into the clear liquid, he let out a scream. "Cold! Cold! Cold!" He yelped as his feet and part of his legs became submerged. The water lapped up against his skin, sending a shooting pain through his nerves. It was as if he'd just surrounded himself with frozen ice.

Instantly, he turned around and ran the other way. "It's cold! It's cold!" He screamed, sprinting back towards the warm, golden sand. _How could the water be so cold, but at the same time, feel like fire?_ He didn't know.

Within seconds, he reached the warm sand once more. However, it only burned his feet further, the temperature difference sending sharp and shooting pains up his legs. "It hurts! It hurts!" He was screaming now. Cinder had stopped flinging sand in all directions and now was running towards him, and concerned expression plastered on his face.

"Jaxs!" He yelped, grabbing his friend's hand. "What happened?"

"The water was freezing," Jaxs whimpered, his feet beginning to feel a bit better now. His feet were beginning to adjust to the temperature of the sand—or rather, his feet had gone numb with pain. "I thought it would be warm."

Squinting his eyes, Cinder turned towards the shimmering ocean waters. "Well, you can't always read a book by its cover," he murmured. "The water does look warm, but you don't always know. Next time you should try it out before diving right into it."

Sighing, Jaxs nodded his head. Before now, he'd always had people to make decisions for him; they always tested things about before he did them. He had never had to try anything for himself. It was weird, having freedom like this. He didn't know if he liked it.

"Okay," Jaxs replied, nodding his head. "I'll try it out next time. Cinder gave him a weak smile, squeezing his hand.

"Do you need anything?" His ally asked, worry shimmering in his eyes.

Jaxs shook his head, watching as grey and white seagulls soared overhead. "I'm fine now, it was just a bit shocking is all." Then, he felt his lips curve into a smile.

"So, what's next on our list?" Jaxs asked.

Cinder giggled. "Eating all the food Lux told us was off limits!"

"Great, I was getting hungry anyway," he replied. "So, chef Cinder, what's on the menu?"

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District 7 Female._

There was only silence as they walked.

The long prairie grass swayed in the morning breeze, tickling at Celeste's ankles. It was brisk but not too frigid, the temperature common to mid-spring and early fall when it was neither too hot nor cold. It reminded her of walking to school with her sister, a thin coat clinging to her arms. Sometimes they'd race, other times they'd just talk. She would have been laughing then, but not here.

Even Raleigh couldn't make her laugh here.

Sereina whimpered as her ally dragged the poor girl along, heading towards the tree she told them Alaric was dangling off of. She could see it in the distance, poking out of the green grass.

"So, Sereina, do you have anyone at home you want to see again?" Celeste asked, breaking the silence. She'd always hated silence; it frightened her more than anything else. If she was talking maybe she could pretend she was a little less afraid. Her own voice comforted her, it was a familiar in an arena full of the unknown.

The girl grunted. "I'll tell you if you let me go."

Raleigh snorted. "Nice try, Tiny," he chuckled. "I don't trust you for a second."

Celeste sighed. Despite what her ally thought, she didn't think Raleigh's tight grip on Sereina's wrist was necessary. In her state, Sereina couldn't get far if she tried to run. Plus, they were the ones with the weapons. Making a break for it would mean death for the girl, Celeste knew that. And Sereina was probably smart enough to know that too if she made it this far.

"I don't like being called Tiny," Sereina growled through gritted teeth.

"Then what do you want to be called? Shortie? Mouse? Squirt?" Raleigh asked, probably trying to be funny. However, neither of them laughed. After his joke, there was only silence. Celeste shuttered.

"I'd prefer to be called Sereina, thanks," she replied coolly. "Unless you want me to call you Moron, then I'd be okay if you called me Tiny."

Raleigh growled, tightening his grip on Sereina's wrist. "Watch your mouth," he hissed. She let out a frightened whimper, wincing. "Who is the one with the weapons here?"

"You," she squeaked weakly. Celeste looked away. She didn't need to see that.

They were nearing the tree now, only a few hundred yards away. However, something didn't look right. Sereina had said she had caught the career in the net, but as far as she could see, there was no net. The leaves of the tree undulated in the breeze, beckoning them closer. She held her breath, taking another reluctant step.

They continued on. When they were a good hundred or so feet away, Celeste heard Sereina gasp. She instantly felt her stomach drop. _What's going on?_

"What's going on?" Raleigh asked, echoing her thoughts. He squinted his eyes to try to see what Sereina was shocked about. However, Celeste already knew.

The net was empty, and the career had escaped.

That was if there had ever been one there in the first place.

Sereina screamed, her voice filling Celeste's ears, ringing like a church bell again and again, and again. They bounced the inside of her head, hitting different objects like a ball in a pinball machine. _One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred._ The points kept racking up, and when she thought on the ball had fallen through the gate, another appeared. Then another. It didn't stop, the screams never leaving.

Maybe silence wasn't the scariest thing there was. At the end of the day, it wouldn't be the silence: the pauses between words, the periods in between sentences, the gaps between conversations that she'd remember. It'd be the screams.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Sorry that took so long, I had a bit of writer's block for a few of the sections, but I'm back now! Another long chapter should be worth the wait, I hope. This is my last update for 2017, so I guess happy new year to everyone, and with that, have a nice 2018. I hope you like that cliffhanger, and I'll leave you pondering what happened to Alaric and where he is.**_

 _ **The poll is still open, if anyone wants to know. The two people in first and last don't surprise me one bit, honestly. If that gives you a hint :)**_

 _ **11th: Tesserae Bird, District 6 Female. Killed by untreated burns.**_

 _ **Tesserae, you were an amazing tribute! I loved you so much, and you were such a cool character with your whole selfless rebel tesserae thing. I wanted to see how far your selflessness would go though, and I really enjoyed writing your arc, because as you said, I don't think anyone is 100% of anything. Everyone has grey, and I think you and your journey through the games really showed that, and I hope I didn't spoil her by making her a bit selfish at the end. Really, I just didn't think the capitol would let her die a martyr, and they had to ruin her somewhat to show that no one is stronger then them, even rebels like Grace and Tesserae. In the end, they broke her, and I think that was the most realistic way for her to go. You could never win due to the nature of being a rebel, but I had so much fun writing you and bringing you to life! FlyingHamburgerRider, I hope you enjoyed her journey and I hope you are happy with her placement! 11th is awesome!**_

 _ **Alliances:**_

 _ **Freedom is Sweet: Jaxs, Cinder**_

 _ **Tree Huggers: Raleigh, Celeste**_

 _ **Loners: Eris, Alaric, Sereina, Lux, Grace, Arilli**_

 _ **paper :)**_


	38. Day 4, Part II: Desperate Measures

_Day 4, Part II: Desperate Measures._

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

 _How?_

 _How did Alaric escape?_

She stared at the shredded net with wide eyes, her lip quivering. She was screaming, but she couldn't hear anything. It was just silent, save for the rapid thumping of her heart inside her chest. It felt like it was going to burst and shatter into a million pieces.

To the left of the net, a giant limb of the tree lay in the swaying grass. It was the limb that she had tied the rope that held the trap on to, and squinting her tear-filled eyes, she could still see the rope was attached. However, the net had a big hole in it, most of the fibers stained red with blood. Above the scene, the trunk of the tree stood still like a statue, a giant hole where one of its branches should have been.

Raleigh turned toward her, gripping her wrist tighter. Her flesh was turning purple around the spot where he held her. She continued the scream, not really knowing what else to do.

" _Dead as a doornail_ ," he growled, repeating the words he had told her earlier. Sereina stopped screaming, looking him dead in the eyes. His blazed with an anger: he had been lied to.

"I—I swear he—he was here—here this morning when I left," she stuttered. "I promise."

"You promised last time," Raleigh growled, gripping her wrist tighter. She whimpered, trying to wriggle free. However, it was no use. He only held her harder.

"He was!" She exclaimed. "The blood, that's his! I swear on my life!"

"Well you won't have anything to swear on soon," Raleigh hissed, releasing his grip on her hand and pushing her to the ground. Sereina hit the hard earth with a thud, the grass breaking her fall slightly. Still, it hurt. She let out another whimper.

Then, she began to scurry backward, her eyes wide with fear. Trying to stand up and turn around to run, she felt a hard boot push her body back down to the ground. She hit the earth again, her chin slamming against a small rock. Red blood began to roll down her face, her soft and smooth skin cut open.

Trying again, she lunged backward and tried to leap to her feet; however, Raleigh was quicker. He stepped forward, giving her a swift kick right in the nose. Her head lurched backward, slamming against the earth with another thud. Instinctively, she cupped a hand up to her nose. It was covered in blood—her entire face was. She screamed again.

Before she had time to try again, Raleigh placed his right foot right in the middle of her chest. She howled and tried to push him off; yet, she was too weak to do so. She couldn't even move his foot a single inch, let alone off of her torso. Then, he angled his spear right at her crooked nose, holding it only inches away from her from her face.

Celeste stood behind him, her eyes glazed over with a glossy film. She looked off towards the horizon line, averting her gaze from the scene. It was almost as if she was in a daze.

"I'm telling the truth!" She wailed, her arms flailing and her legs kicking. They did little to shake Raleigh. "His sword is in the grass, right by the net! I saw it this morning! Please, believe me!"

Raleigh inched the spearhead closer. "I'm done with your games, Tiny," he hissed. "You were probably going to trap us, that's why you lead us here in the first place. You aren't fooling anyone anymore."

 _The knife._ Sereina swore under her breath, instantly remembering what was in her pocket. She brought a knife with her. Although she had no idea how to use it, there was no harm in trying. It was that, or Raleigh would kill her anyway. _What did she have to lose?_

Raising his spear into the air, Raleigh let out a determined yell. Sereina swiftly reached into her pocket and pulled out the silver knife she'd been carrying around for the entire day, stabbing it right into Raleigh's ankle. He let out a scream, staggering backward and off of Sereina's body. The spear fell into the long grass.

Quickly, she leaped to her feet and began to sprint away from the tree and her attacker. However, she didn't get very far. As soon as she began to run, the world began to spin around her and black intruded on her vision. She felt like she was going to puke.

Blood was dripping from her face. She watched it as it hit the ground, falling into the long grass.

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

It was almost soothing, if she didn't think of it as her blood, rather, red water or juice. _Yes, it was juice._ That's all it was. Just juice, like the kind she used to drink with her sister back at home.

Juice would be nice right now, she decided as she continued to lose more of her vision.

Then she was falling, her knees buckling beneath her. Twisting around, she saw a spear lurch towards her. But she was powerless to stop it, and the last thing she saw was Celeste's wide eyes as her world faded to black.

* * *

 _Grace Peterson, 18, District 8 Female._

She was going to do this. She was really going to do this.

 _It won't be that bad_ , she assured herself. _You're only stealing, and if you don't steal, you are going to die. The girl would understand. No one will get hurt, you'll just pick up the backpack and run off before she even knows what's going on. That's all. You are doing this to survive, if circumstances weren't this extreme you wouldn't be doing this._

Through narrowed eyes, she watched the girl with the scarred face wind through the narrow and dirty city streets. Arilli was her name, she remembered her from training. She had been following her for the past hour, staying a good distance behind so that she wouldn't be able to hear her. So far, her plan had worked, and Arilli had only turned around once or twice in superstition.

Finally, the moment Grace had been waiting for arrived. The girl she was following ducked into one of the dirty alleyways and stopped, slinging her backpack off of her shoulders. Sighing, she reached into it and pulled out a package of crackers, sitting down across from the place where she had dropped her backpack. Arilli opened the package and began to eat.

Grace held her breath. _This was it._ She was going to do this. She was going to steal from an innocent girl who had done nothing wrong to her. Once she got the water—Arilli had to have at least some—she'd return the backpack and it would be as if nothing happened. The girl would have her stuff back, and she would no longer be on the brink of dehydration. Everything would be as it should.

Then, all of a sudden, a wave of nausea hit her like a wave crashing on a sandy beach. She felt like she was going to puke. However, it wasn't the first time it had happened. This was becoming a constant now; Grace had been throwing up for the past few days at least every couple hours. A side effect of the lack of water, she knew from her days working at the hospital with her mother. She only had so much more time left before there would be nothing left to throw up.

 _It's now or never._ Bending down, Grace picked up a rock about the size of her fist that was lying by her ruined shoes. Poking out of the alleyway she was in, Grace thrust the rock as hard as she could. It went soaring through the air, landing a few hundred feet away, past Arilli. It clattered against the hard pavement, making a clinking noise as it collided with the ground.

The blonde girl's eyes widened, and she quickly leaped to her feet, gripping her knife tightly in her hand. Grace took a deep breath, picking up another rock, this one slightly smaller. She threw it in the same direction as the first. It soared through the air and fell to the pavement a little further away than the first one did.

Arilli jumped again, gripping her knife tighter. Leaving her bag in the alleyway, she poked her head out, warily gazing around. Grace shrunk back. Arilli didn't see her and stepped out into the street. She began to walk towards where the rocks had been thrown, ready to attack anyone she saw.

Now was Grace's chance. She sprinted out of her hiding place and onto the main street, her legs pumping faster than they ever had before. Thankfully, Arilli didn't hear her, continuing to move towards where she heard the clinking of the rocks.

Grace dove into the alleyway, spotting the bag propped up against one of the dirt-lined walls. She snatched it off the ground and quickly unzipped it. Then, she began to sift through it, looking desperately for a bottle of water in the pile of other supplies completely useless to her.

"Where is it? Where is it?" She muttered hastily, throwing things out of the bag. A flashlight. A bag of chips. A blanket. She looked like a wild dog digging desperately for its favorite bone, savage and animalistic. She didn't care though—soon she'd have water. That's all the mattered. She wouldn't be dead.

She only had a few seconds more, by now Arilli had probably realized that the sounds she heard weren't from another tribute. A box of matches, a rope. Finally, she spotted a silver canteen of water at the bottom of the backpack, glistening in the midday sun. To Grace, it was more valuable than any silver would be. Silver couldn't save her life. Water could. She smiled, cradling it in her arms like a newborn baby.

But then, as soon as she thought she was in the clear, she looked up to see the blonde girl charging at her, knife in hand. Grace shrieked and tried to run, but in her current sick state, didn't get very far. She went a few feet but then felt a sharp shooting pain enter her lower back. Warm liquid gushed out of the newly inflected wound. She'd been stabbed.

Arilli pulled the knife out of her back, and Grace shrieked again. Then, Grace twisted around, instinctively punching her fist in the direction of the girl. She didn't know what else to do, it was her natural reaction to the pain that was searing in her back. The punch hit Arilli square in the gut, and she staggered backward, moaning in pain.

Grace's eyes widened. She looked to the silver water bottle in her hand, then back to Arilli's eyes flickering with pain. _What—what did she just do?_

She should have used this opportunity to run, to get as far away from Arilli as possible. She could have had her water and been done with the whole ordeal, only the scars of her burns and the wound in her back as a memory of it. However, she didn't run. She stood as still as a statue, her mouth hanging open in shock. _What did she just do?_

It took Arilli a few moments to recover, for Grace had knocked the wind out of her and maybe had fractured a rib or two. She charged back at the frozen girl with a determined yell, her knife angled right at Grace's left chest. Grace didn't move—she could have. But she didn't. She was frozen in terror. _What did she just do?_

Everything seemed to slow to a halt. For a minute, time seemed to stop.

Strangely, she thought of her interview the night before the games.

 _"I'm going to die the way I came in, nobody can change that," she'd said bravely._

 _"I vowed the heal others, not hurt others. That's not going to change. I'd rather die nobly then lose a part of myself."_

 _"You won't break me."_

Apparently, they had.

Time sped up again, and Grace watched helplessly as Arilli thrust her knife right into her chest—right into her thumping heart. The world went black as moonless night.

She wished she could say that she had beat them; that they hadn't broken her and she died with her dignity still in tact. If only she had been a hero and resisted the temptations of her tongue, her lust for water, then maybe she would have kept her promise. But she couldn't say that. There was no use lying. They had beat her, and she had become a pawn in their chess game.

The Capitol had won.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

"God, she's heavier then she looks," Raleigh grumbled, dragging Sereina's bloody body across the long grass. A trail of red followed behind him, the green of the grass no longer visible under the thick coat of crimson.

They were heading towards the barn—the direction the small girl had tried to run in before she fainted. The sky was a placid blue above their heads; the blades of grass undulating in the cool breeze. If they weren't in the arena, Raleigh would have considered it a nice day, and maybe he would have ridden his bike or hung out with Arial in the trainyard. But here, in the arena, there were no good days. He was dragging a half dead girl across a field after all. No one, perhaps only the careers, would call that a good day.

Celeste was muttering words to herself softly, too quiet for Raleigh to hear. It was more than evident she wasn't comfortable with this, and if she had her way she would have let Sereina go the first time they caught her. Holding a half-dead girl hostage was definitely not something she had planned on doing in the arena, or anytime in her life. It probably went against everything she believed in.

Raleigh didn't care though. He knew that if he was going to win, he was going to have to do things he didn't want to do.

"Maybe you should carry her," Celeste suggested after some time. "We don't want to injure her even more than we have already."

Raleigh shook his head. "No, we do. We only want her information, and we don't want her to run away. The worse condition she's in, the better."

Celeste grumbled in disapproval, yet didn't speak up. She knew that nothing would change his mind.

Within minutes, they reached the red barn. It was a tall structure, with a large sliding door in the front and a small window just above it. White trim lined the edges of the walls and windows, and a black roof lay on top of it all. A small nine was carved into the red wooden planks, but Raleigh didn't think much of it. It was probably just something that told the construction crews where to put the barn when the arena was being built.

Celeste stepped forwards, placing a hand on the door to slide it open. However, Raleigh stopped her.

"Wait!" He yelped. "If its Tiny's hideout, it could be boobytrapped."

Celeste nodded her head slowly, yet looked a bit upset that he was still referring to her as Tiny. "Okay, I'll open it slowly then. Stay back in case it's a net, and if there is one, you can cut me down."

"Good idea," he replied, taking a step backward and dragging Sereina's limp body with him. He nodded his head in approval for Celeste to open the door after he was a decent distance back.

She slid it open slowly, inch by inch. To Raleigh and her surprise, nothing came flying at them and no nets came and scooped them up. However, Celeste gasped when she saw what was inside.

"There's so much stuff in here!" She squeaked, rushing inside. Raleigh followed her in, his eyes widening at the stash of objects lying in one of the corners of the dimly lit barn. Backpacks piled high with supplies were stacked in a pyramid shape, along with nets and ropes that Tiny was probably using to create her various traps.

Raleigh felt his lips curve into a smile. "This place is insane!"

Dropping Sereina's skinny body onto the floor gently, he rushed over and began to sift through the pile of things. Matches, canteens of water, blankets, night vision glasses, a coil of wire were among the many tools and supplies he saw. Celeste hung back, looking around the interior of the barn with awe.

"This girl is smart. No wonder she got a seven in training," she exclaimed. "She even has a little loft up there where she can hide if anyone comes in. Genius!"

Raleigh snorted, continuing to sift through the supplies. "Well, if she's so smart, she would have stayed here and not been out in the open like she was."

Celeste shrugged. "Maybe she needed something."

"Like what? She already has everything she needs in here!"

"Well, you never know. Maybe she could have been looking for something—or someone," Celeste replied.

Raleigh didn't respond, continuing to sort through the mountain of stuff.

"Maybe we should try to ask her to be our ally," she blurted out. "She's smart, and she obviously knows how to steal. She'd be an asset to our team."

He laughed. "You really think she'd trust us after we tried to kill her twice?"

Celeste nodded her head slowly. "I think. If we do something to earn her trust—like maybe protecting her or teaching her how to throw a spear or—"

"I don't think that will work," Raleigh interrupted. "She'll probably just try to run away the moment we let her out of our sight, and I still don't trust her. She lied to us about Alaric, after all."

"What if she was telling the truth though? " She asked. "We still don't know."

"Let's just stick to our original plan," he replied. "Keep her hostage, make her tell us how to build the traps so we can catch the careers ourselves. That way, if she turns out to be a liar and disloyal, she won't kill us in our sleep. It's the safest thing to do."

Celeste grumbled in disagreement. "But—"

Then, all of a sudden, Sereina let out a groan, beginning to stir. Raleigh swore and grabbed a rope from the pile of supplies.

"We have to tie her up before she wakes up," he declared. His ally nodded reluctantly, moving towards Seriena's limp body.

Celeste grabbed Sereina's arms, while Raleigh took hold of Sereina's legs. "Alright, we're going to bring her to that pole over there," he instructed. "Lift on three. One, two, three!"

They hoisted her small body into the air, having little trouble holding her. She was small, only about five or so feet tall from Raleigh's estimate. They carried her over to a wooden post and set her down at its base. She stirred again.

"Hold her in place," he told Celeste. She did as he said, holding her body in a sitting position as Raleigh wound the thick rope around her. Then, he tied it tight and stepped backward, smiling slightly at his work.

"She's not that strong, so that should hold for now. I'll check her pockets to make sure she doesn't pull out any more knives."

Diving his hand into her pant pockets, he only surfaced with a crumpled piece of paper. Throwing it to the side, he discovered that her other pocket was empty. Sereina stirred again, her eyes slowly opening.

"W—where am I?" She murmured groggily, her eyes darting around the dimly lit barn. Celeste went to go find a flashlight, while Raleigh kneeled beside their prisoner, feet away.

"Back at your hideout," he chuckled, giving her a toothy smile. She screamed, trying to stand and run. However, the rope held, and she went nowhere.

"No, no, no," Raleigh scolded, wagging his finger. With his opposite hand, he pulled out a silver knife—the one she had stabbed into his leg a few hours prior. It was still coated with blood. "No screaming or I get to use this. You don't want that, do you?"

Sereina gulped, instantly going silent. She shook her head back and forth, her eyes wide with terror. "W—what do you want with me?"

"Smart girl," he chuckled. "We want you to teach us how to build a trap, like the one you supposedly caught Alaric in."

She frowned, averting her eyes from him. "And why would I do that?"

Raleigh held the tip of the knife to her bloody chin, only inches away. "I mean, if you'd rather die, we can make that happen too."

She let out a frightened squeak, her head pressing against the wooden pole. Her eyes widened even further.

He smiled. "That's what I thought. Now, what the first thing I need to know about making traps?"

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He thought about what he was going to say to Eris when he saw him again.

"Long time, no see. Maybe it would have been longer if you killed me when you actually could."

"Look who it is, my favorite person!"

"I'm a ghost, prepare to be haunted."

"Where is your stupid honor rule about an eye for an eye get going to get you now? Dead."

"I'm back from the dead, and this time, I'm going to take you with me."

And his personal favorite,

"Hey, loser. Are you ready to die?"

Yeah, he liked that one. It was short and simple and to the point. When he found his former ally, he was going to kill him, and he was going to enjoy it. Look—he didn't harbor resentment towards Eris like the blonde boy from One seemed to hold towards anyone else, but after he had abandoned him in the net and left him for dead they were done. Whatever temporary alliance they had was broken. This year, it turned out that the entire career pack—even him and Eris, were completely unstable and disloyal towards each other. He knew Lena was insane—she had been for the entire year he had known her, but Eris was a bit of a shock. He thought he was at least somewhat normal when he met him.

Apparently, he had been wrong. Eris was as crazy as the rest of them, and he should have peed on him last night when he refused to cut him down. That's what he should have done to that brat. He should have peed on him.

Whatever, it was too late now. Alaric tilted his sword back and forth so that it glittered in the bright sunlight, shining like diamonds. Eris had been stupid to leave the sword just below his feet. Yes, it was meant to taunt him, but what if he somehow escaped? Then he'd be armed, and Eris would just look like a fool.

Speaking of escape, Eris probably should have checked how stable the tree branch was when he had left him hanging there. When dawn broke and Alaric could finally see again, he realized that the branch the net was tied on wasn't even that stable. It was cracked at the joint; only a little more pressure and it would snap in two. Taking advantage of this, Alaric thrust his weight to the left, then to the right until he was swinging back and forth. This had done the trick, and the branch snapped off from the trunk of the tree, sending him crashing to the ground. Then, he had taken the sword Eris had so graciously left him and cut himself free from the fishing net.

He looked ahead at the city of shining lights and shimmering buildings standing before him. Most likely, Eris would have returned to the cornucopia; if he was anywhere, he would be there. He grinned, picturing the stunned look on his former ally's face when he realized that Alaric had escaped and wasn't dead.

Boy, was he in for the biggest surprise of his life. If Alaric could help it, it would be his last surprise too.

* * *

 **A/N: A shorter chapter (not really, but it's not 6k/7k words like my last few, but I hope you enjoyed it. I think it was more action packed then the first part of day 4, and it's only going to get crazier from here! I have some big things planned for later :) And, from here on out, I think I'll only be checking in on tributes once a day since there are only 9 of them left! So see you on Day 5!**

 **10th: Grace Peterson, District 8 Female. Stabbed by Arilli.**

 **Grace, you were an awesome tribute! You had strong opinions and weren't afraid to voice them, but at the end that's what did you in. You were a really great and balanced character with vices and virtues, you were kind but also rebellious, you didn't care what anyone else thought but you never really could see the magnitude of your actions, and you were so stubborn my goodness! At the end though, the Capitol was never going to let out get out alive and had to break you, and did meddle in the games so the only way you were going to get water was to steal it. I think Grace is a testimony that even the best and most driven people in certain circumstances can break if they are pushed hard enough, and at the end, you went against everything you believed in to survive, which I always thought was one of the most interesting aspects of the Hunger Games: how far people will go to survive. And, like Tesserae, you never could win, but I didn't see the Capitol giving you an easy or quick death either which is why I kept you around for so long. You suffered, which was I think the most realistic thing to happen. Thank you DestroynotCreate for Grace, she was a pleasure to write and bring to life, though I imagine you never really saw her as rebellious as I made her, but I think being a rebel really made her personality shine and I hope you are happy with the path I had her take.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Boys Just Want to Have Fun (2): Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Basically Hijacked Sereina's Entire Everything: Raleigh, Celeste**

 **A Hostage Now: Sereina**

 **Loners: Eris, Alaric, Lux, Arilli**

 **I know we didn't hear from like half the tributes but they weren't doing much of anything, so we'll see the rest next time!**

 **paper :)**


	39. Day 5: The Calm Before the Storm

_Day 5: The Calm Before the Storm_

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District 7 Female._

She blinked open her eyes, revealing the same darkness she saw when she was dreaming. _Good,_ she thought. _I still have time._

Sitting up, she pushed the warm blanket off of her and stretched her arms. Outside, the sky was still twinkling with a million stars and the moon still hung high above them. It must have been some odd hour in the early morning, one or two perhaps. The barn was cold, frigid wind running through the drafts. Celeste shivered, pulling her blanket back up.

She looked over at her sleeping ally who was snoring quietly beside her. She waved her hand in front of his face, but he didn't stir. She smiled weakly, moving her hand back to her side. He was fast asleep. That was good. He wouldn't hear her then.

Standing to her feet slowly, small, round goosebumps formed on her exposed skin. She ignored them, slowly making her way over to the pole where the sleeping Sereina was tied up. She tiptoed across the floor, trying to be as quiet as possible. The floorboards creaked slightly under her weight, making small cracking noises as she walked. Raleigh didn't wake up though, his snoring as constant as the rapid beating of her heart.

Finally, she reached Sereina. The short girl still slept, yet looked a bit more awake than Raleigh, stirring slightly like she had when she was waking up from her fainting episode. Celeste glanced back towards her ally, then towards Sereina. The coast was clear. She reached around to Sereina's back and began to untie the rope.

 _She may have Tristan's blood on her hands, but she wasn't going to let another innocent child die because she was too afraid to take action._

Sereina groaned, her eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Don't scream," Celeste whispered. "I'm letting you out."

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that thankfully Raleigh was still asleep. His body still rose and fell rhythmically, his snoring still flooding her ears.

Sereina looked confused. "What?" She squeaked.

"Be quiet," Celeste hissed softly as Raleigh groaned and rolled onto his side. "I said I'm letting you free, so shut up or we're both going to be dead."

She nodded silently, watching as Celeste unwound the rope from her chest. Outside, an owl hooted. Raleigh muttered words that Celeste could not make out, sitting up and rubbing his eyes groggily.

 _Shoot._ Celeste held her breath, twisting her head around to look at Raleigh. _Please don't turn on the flashlight. Please don't turn on the flashlight,_ she prayed.

Raleigh yawned, flopping back down on his blanket and turning over onto his side. "Stupid owl," he muttered, then went silent again.

Celeste held her breath for what felt like hours, waiting until Raleigh's snoring returned again. As a still as a statue, neither she or Sereina moved an inch. Finally, Raleigh's soft snores returned and Celeste continued to work on unwinding the rope that bond the small girl to the pole.

Finally, Sereina was free. Celeste quietly lowered the rope onto the ground and placed a finger on her lips, signaling to Sereina that they needed to be quiet. Sereina nodded and they stood up, crossing the room and heading over to the mountain of supplies in the left corner by the sliding door.

"I already packed us two bags, one has water and supplies to get you fixed up," she murmured.

The small girl nodded weakly. She was in such bad shape, and she could barely stand without falling over. The only thing keeping her afloat was the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"The other has some supplies to build a trap," Celeste continued. "I couldn't find any food or take anything bigger because Raleigh would have realized it was missing last night."

Sereina cocked her head to the side. "Are you coming with me?" She asked quietly. Raleigh rolled onto his side, freezing both of them in their tracks. Thankfully, that was all he did, his snoring returning a second later.

"Yes," Celeste replied, her voice no louder than a mouse. "I'll explain why later, but for now I have to do what my gut is telling me to do. And my gut is telling me to leave with you."

Sereina nodded and slung a backpack over her shoulder. Celeste took a deep breath, picking up her spear and sliding the backpack full of trapping supplies onto her back. _No what ifs,_ she told herself. _You're going all in, trust yourself._

Slowly, Celeste slid open the barn door. Raleigh didn't even stir, still lost in a dream or the empty nothingness that sometimes accompanied sleep. Once it was open far enough for them to slide through, she motioned for Sereina to exit. In the moonlight streaming in through the slit, she could see the girl's face was still covered in dried blood. She shivered. _That was her fault, but she was going to fix it._ Then, she did the same, inching through the small crack between the wall and the door.

One last time, she glanced back at her sleeping ally. Well, he wasn't her ally anymore. Her _former_ ally.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, only loud enough for herself to hear. "You told me to trust myself, and that's all I'm doing. I'm doing what I think is right."

Then, she slid the door closed, and the two of them headed out into the brisk night air. Even in the dark, Celeste could see the smoky grey of her breath as it left her mouth and disappeared into the endless black.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District 12 Male._

Over the shimmering blue waters, the sun was rising slowly, reds and oranges and pinks illuminating the once black and colorless sky. It almost looked like a painting—it was surreal to Cinder. Back in Twelve, everything was grey and black, the color of coal dust and despair. Here, even if the arena was an artificial creation, it was far prettier then whatever natural rundown beauty Twelve had to it.

Beside him, Jaxs' eyes were wide with awe as he watched the sun creep up over the crashing ocean waves. Neither of them spoke, each wanted to enjoy the beautiful moment for themselves. After all, it could be their last. The waves were the only thing breaking the silence, crashing along the sandy beach rhythmically.

"Well, that's thing number five Lux didn't let us do," Cinder murmured after the sun had risen above the ocean waves. "What's next?"

Jaxs furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think. "Can we have another big meal?"

"There's no food left," Cinder replied solemnly. "We ate it all yesterday."

"How about climbing the trees back in the forest?" Jaxs suggested. "I mean—I was too tired to ask her if we could, but if I did she would have said no anyway."

Cinder's face lit up. "Sounds awesome!" He exclaimed, yet his smile begun to fade as he really thought about the idea. "But how are we going to find the forest again? This arena is so big."

Jaxs shrugged. "I dunno. But if we beat Lux, we can do anything, right?"

"Right," Cinder replied assuredly, his smile returning to its natural place on his face.

Then, all of a sudden, the country of Panem's official theme began to play loudly.

"What's going on?" Jaxs asked, giving Cinder a confused glance. Cinder shrugged, looking for where the origin of the music was coming from. He couldn't find it.

After a minute or so, the music stopped, and there was silence for a split second. Then the head gamemaker began to speak.

"Tributes, as a reward for making it to the final nine, there will be a feast held at the cornucopia tomorrow at noon. Every tribute will have a designated bag with their district number on it, each containing something they desperately need. May the odds be ever in your favor."

The national anthem played once more, then there was silence. The waves continued to crash along the beach, white foam forming at their crests. Cinder stared blankly at them. Feasts always meant people dying, that's why the gamemakers held them. They didn't care about what they needed and what they didn't, they just wanted more action. The people must have been getting bored of them watching the sunrise on an artificial beach.

"I don't think we should go," he uttered.

Jaxs shook his head back and forth vigorously. "No, I think we should."

Cinder gave him a confused stare. _Did he have a death wish? He hoped not._ "Why?" He croaked.

"What's the number one thing Lux told us never ever in a million years to do?" Jaxs asked.

He blinked, trying to think. "Don't consider your enemy a friend?"

"Exactly!" The taller boy exclaimed. "And who was the number one enemy?"

"Arilli!" Cinder shouted enthusiastically. "We can meet up with Arilli there! She'll be so happy when she sees us, then we can all have a big feast and do fun things Lux never let us do. That's perfect! You are a genius Jaxs!"

Jaxs' cheeks flushed red. No one had ever told him he was smart, let alone a genius. Back at home he never thought for himself, but here, he was going to be a leader. He was going to come up with the plans, not just follow them. He was never going to listen to orders again.

"You're welcome," he chuckled. "Apparently Lux wasn't the only one with the good ideas."

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

The playing of the Panem's national anthem was the first thing he heard when he woke up. Not wanting to open his eyes just yet, he listened to the announcement, his head still plastered onto the pillow and his eyes still bolted shut. It was nice to have a pillow again, for the first three nights in the arena he'd been lacking one. He wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.

"Tributes," the head gamemaker spoke, "as a reward for making it to the final nine, there will be a feast held at the cornucopia tomorrow at noon. Every tribute will have a designated bag with their district number on it, each containing something they desperately need. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Raleigh sprang into a sitting position. Perfect! This would be the perfect chance to catch the careers in Tiny's net, then he could get medicine for his ankle that still hadn't healed completely! This couldn't have come at a better time! The wound on his ankle was beginning to get infected, and they had just captured Tiny yesterday.

"Celeste, isn't that great?" He exclaimed, blinking open his eyes. However, there was no one to his side. The makeshift bed Celeste had made last night was empty, the blankets spread everywhere. Flicking on a flashlight, he angled it at the bed. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Celeste?" He asked. There was no response, the creaking of the floorboards beneath him the only thing making any noise. _"Celeste?"_ He repeated hastily, but again, there was nothing. He felt a shiver go down his spine. _Where was she?_

Then, he raised his flashlight a few inches, the beam of light now shining on the post where Sereina had been tied up last night. _Last night_ was the key word there. She, along with Celeste, had vanished like air. Only an unwound rope lay strewn out across the floor, a ring of blood where Sereina's body should have been.

He swore under his breath, quickly scrambling to his feet. He knew what had happened, but he didn't want to believe his eyes. Celeste couldn't have abandoned him like that, especially after all they had been through. They lost Tristan, outran the careers, lost all their supplies, and now this? It couldn't be possible. She couldn't have left him like that, and taken the one person with her that he distrusted the most.

Tilting his flashlight downwards, he shone a beam of light on the supplies. About a quarter of it was gone, the bandages, most of the water, and about half of the trapping supplies. This had been a planned escape, Sereina hadn't broken free and taken Celeste hostage with her like he wanted to believe. This had been Celeste's doing—it had been her plan. No one else's.

Flicking off the flashlight, he slumped back down to the ground. He should have kept watch, and he shouldn't have put his blind faith in his ally who had just turned around and stabbed him in the back like he was nothing to her. They were friends, yes they fought and had their arguments, but he still considered Celeste his friend or at least a close acquaintance. Apparently, she had been deceiving him this whole time, playing him like a fiddle. It was the arena, after all, he shouldn't have let his guard down so easily. At least she hadn't killed him.

He should have felt angry—Celeste just abandoned him and took with her his best chance at winning. He should have wanted revenge—he should have wanted her red blood on his hands. But he didn't. He held no animosity towards his former ally and didn't lust for her blood like he thought he would.

Raleigh just felt betrayed, and perhaps, that was worse.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She felt absolutely miserable.

No, and not about how she treated her former allies. She was just playing the game, adhering to the Capitol's wants for drama and a villain that they could root against with a fiery passion. If anything, she felt good about that. She liked being treated like a queen by someone for once.

Her body was the thing that was feeling miserable. Her stomach growled in hunger, twisting and turning inside her like a caged animal yearning to her set free. She hadn't eaten in nearly two days and hadn't drunk any water since her allies had turned on her. Her throat was dry like a desert, and her skin was littered in round goosebumps. It was a mild morning though, which she found rather odd. Maybe she had a fever.

So when the announcement for a feast came around, she was absolutely thrilled. Cinder and Jaxs may have left her for dead, but if she was able to get her hands on whatever was at the feast tomorrow, she'd be set for a few more days. She may not know what berries are safe to eat or how to filter water or use a weapon, but she knew how to be quick and sneaky. Hopefully, she'll be able to steal her bag without anyone noticing.

Despite feeling crappy, she felt a small smile creep onto her face. She had an idea. At the feast, there would not only be supplies she desperately needed, but people would be there too. If she could find someone gullible enough to take pity on her and form an alliance with her, then maybe she wouldn't be a lost cause. She could manipulate them and have them lead her right to the end, where she could do what she did best and slit their throats when they least expected her to. Then, there would be no one left but her. She'd be the victor, and she'd have everything she ever dreamed of.

However, she needed to find the right person there. Cinder, Jaxs, and Arilli were out of the question since they already knew her malicious ways. The careers would probably slit her throat before she even had a chance to beg for them to save her, so they were also nos. That left three, all of whom she'd never talked to or heard anything about. They could all be psychotic killers for all she knew.

But, she'd have to at least try. Lux Ward, for all the bad she had inside her, wasn't one to give up easily.

Her stomach twisted again in hunger, yet this time, it didn't feel as bad. Tomorrow, the horrible feeling would be gone and another mindless fly would be caught in her trap, already prepare ready to be devoured. Then, she'd no longer be hungry.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

On his way to go find Eris at the cornucopia, Alaric had heard the announcement for the feast tomorrow.

"Tributes, as a reward for making it to the final nine, there will be a feast held at the cornucopia tomorrow at noon. Every tribute will have a designated bag with their district number on it, each containing something they desperately need. May the odds be ever in your favor."

He had stopped dead in his tracks, a giant grin plastered on his pale face. _Oh, this was going to be good. It was going to be so good._ He was practically bouncing up and down in place now, barely able to contain his excitement. _This was going to be so good._

Instead of surprising Eris today, when he wouldn't be expecting him—or anyone to come within a mile radius of the cornucopia, he'd do it at the feast and humiliate him in front of everyone else. Eris would probably be sitting pretty, playing with his sword while he waited for the other tributes to dare and run towards the center, but there would be no way he'd be expecting Alaric to show up.

"You never thought it would be me here, huh?"

Alaric laughed, imagining Eris' shocked face when he realized it was Alaric instead of another weak tribute like the girl who wouldn't let him out of the net or the two tributes they had chanced through the orchard two nights ago.

"What—wait—I thought you were dead?" He stammered, imitating Eris' stunned voice that she'd surely have when he saw Alaric dramatically appear out of nowhere like a ghost.

"Guess again," he'd say, giving Eris a big grin. "But in a minute, you won't be."

"Not if I can help it," Eris would save bravely like the valiant knight he always pretended to act like. He wasn't though. Alaric knew he was a coward.

Then, they'd start fighting, and Alaric would obviously win. Eris would be off-guard and unprepared, not ready for the fight that had been building up for the past five days. Alaric would be ready, and he'd counter every one of his moves perfectly, then strike the killing blow.

"Enjoy your throne, for now, pretty boy," he sneered. "Tomorrow it's going to be mine."

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District 1 Male._

Eris, with nothing else to do, watched as the sun climbed higher and higher. It was a glowing medallion in the sky, shinier than any gold medal that they handed out at the academy or any fake tattoo that an idiotic Capitolite had permanently inked onto their skin. He wondered if the crown at the end of all this would be as bright as the sun. For all this trouble, he hoped it was.

The pavement beneath his feet, hot as hell, burned through his torn shoes. His feet were blistered and swollen red from the heat, he had tried long ago to find relief but there was none. Now, they had numbed and he could feel very little—they just tingled like pins and needles after all the blood had drained out of them.

Behind him, the cornucopia stood still as a statue, its tall shadow shrinking as the sun climbed higher. Inside, only a pile or two of junk remained; the rest had been raided sometime between the bloodbath and his arrival here yesterday. The only thing of use to him had been a lawn chair, like the ones he used to see in the rich citizens of One's yards. Sometimes a middle-aged woman with tan skin and a floppy hat would sit in them, reading a magazine while drinking a glass of cool lemonade or champagne. He had neither.

Boredom hung in the air like a foul stench, unwilling to disappear or even lessen. Eris just reclined back, his wounds from the wolf attack tingling with a numb pain. There were no more medical supplies at the cornucopia. They, like everything else, had vanished with whoever had taken them. The only thing that could heal his wounds now was time, and time seemed to be the only thing he had an abundance of currently.

There was nothing to do now but wait. He sighed in boredom, waiting in his lawn chair usually used by tanning moms for the sun to reach its pinnacle then recede and then climb back up again. With the feast tomorrow, there was no use in going out to search for tributes. They'd be too hard to find anyway, with only eight tributes left in the huge arena. Alaric was the only one whose location he knew of, but his former ally was probably dead now anyway, and by the time he reached him, his cannon would probably have already sounded.

However, tomorrow they'd flock to him like chicks running to the mother hen in search of something they needed desperately. He wondered what food or weapon could be worth their life.

Because with Eris already here, the only thing the tributes were going to find was death.

No one was going to steal the prince's throne, nor the crown he was going to receive at the end of it all. He just had to wait.

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

She winced as Celeste wrapped a white bandage around her shoulder.

"There, that should do it," Celeste declared, tying the final bandage and stepping back to take a look at her work. "All done. How did I do?"

Grumbling, Sereina glanced down at her wrapped arm. "I look like a mummy," she muttered, giving the shoulder a gentle poke with her opposite hand.

"That's better than being an actual mummy and being dead," Celeste pointed out, chuckling slightly. Sereina didn't even smile. She didn't trust this girl for a second, despite Celeste's efforts to make amends with her by saving her and bandaging her up. A day ago, she had tried to kill her. _How did she expect her to believe that they were all buddy-buddy and that everything was okay?_ It wasn't, and it would never be. There was no apology for attempting to take someone's life. Celeste was probably using her, just like Raleigh had. The only difference was that Celeste was acting nice, while Raleigh hadn't wasted his time with pretending and had just cut straight to the chase.

"So, what do you want with me now that I'm not on the verge of death?" Sereina asked bitterly. "Want me to teach you how to build a trap? Or use me as bait for a plan of yours? Or ask me about my knowledge of the arena and the other tributes? Or—"

The long-haired girl cut her off. "No, I don't want anything from you."

Sereina raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Huh. I don't believe that for a second."

"I'm not lying," Celeste replied frankly.

"Then if you don't want anything from me, why did you risk your life to save me?"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

Sereina scoffed, blinking at Celeste. "Really? You saved me because it was the right thing to do? That's the most bullshit answer I've ever heard."

"Raleigh was going to kill you after you helped us. How could I just stand by and let that happen?" Celeste asked, her tone raising slightly. "I'm not a cruel person, and I knew you were telling the truth. I couldn't let another innocent person die while I stood by—not again."

Sereina felt a small smile creep onto her face. "So if you don't want anything from me, can I leave now?"

The girl paused, her mouth hanging open as if she was going to say something, but stopped herself.

"Well—" she began hesitantly, but Sereina cut her off.

"Well, what? It's a yes or no answer, you either let me go or you don't."

Celeste frowned. "I was hoping you could be my ally, and since I saved you—"

"Since you saved me nothing!" Sereina yelped. "You saved me because it's the right thing to do, that's what you said! I could have saved myself without your help if I really wanted to."

Celeste looked like she was about to cry. "Well," she murmured weakly, silver tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Well, nothing! Well, nothing!" She screamed, her face flushed with anger. "I'm leaving, so thanks for saving me for your stupid moral it's what's right crap, and I hope you have fun being all alone now that you abandoned your ally!"

Turning sharply, she began to stalk away, but she felt something grab her wrist, and she was spun back around violently. Some of her bandages began to unravel, and she found herself staring directly into Celeste's gaze that was flickering with hints of hurt and anger.

"You know what, Sereina?" She asked, her voice on the verge of a scream. "I saved you because it's the right thing to do, but I also thought that you'd be at least a little bit thankful and not act like the spoiled brat you are being now, and help me out. I betrayed my most trusted ally and best friend in these games to save you, and what do you do to repay me? You scream at me and leave! But guess who was the one who saved you? Me! It was me! I saved you, I earned your trust, so at least you could agree to be my ally! Who else out there do you think is going to take a weak girl who is on the verge of death in and treat you with respect and not kill you the first chance they get? Nobody! Nobody will! I am offering you a deal—I want to help you—l want to be your friend and treat you like an equal and not a prisoner like Raleigh. So you are going to stay here, help me build a trap for the feast tomorrow, and suck whatever bad feelings you are holding inside up! I'm not going to kill you, and I'm not going to ask too much of you! Okay? That's all I want, okay?"

Sereina blinked at her, speechless. By now Celeste's entire face was flushed crimson, silver tears sliding down her cheeks and landing on her torn shirt. Her entire body was shaking, and Sereina no longer saw anger—but rather fear in her eyes.

"Do I even have a choice?" Sereina echoed.

"We always have a choice," Celeste hissed back through gritted teeth.

Sereina huffed, pulling herself away from Celeste. "Fine, I'll help you. But that doesn't mean I'll like it."

It didn't mean she'd trust her either.

* * *

 **A/N: And another day, another chapter! Save for the Celeste/Raleigh/Sereina thing, this day wasn't completely exciting, but it was never meant to be that way. This chapter was meant to be a set-up for the feast, a way to get into everyone's head and see what their mindset/plans were going into it. But trust me, this chapter was well needed and will be worth the wait, because I have some crazy things planned for the feast and some crazy and long overdue battles that are about to happen (no spoilers, but you can guess!), and it will totally make up for the lack of action in this chapter x10. The feast is something I have been planning for a very long time, folks. It's going to be exciting, and I hope it's not too early for it.**

 **Alliances:**

 **Boys Just Want To Have Fun (2): Jaxs, Cinder**

 **Trust Me: Sereina, Celeste**

 **Loners: Eris, Alaric, Lux, Raleigh, Arilli**

 **paper :)**


	40. Day 6, The Feast: Eat, Drink, and Die

_**A/N: Before I start, this is another long chapter, about 8.5k of actual writing. You have been warned.**_

* * *

 _Day 6, The Feast: Eat, Drink, and Die_

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

They left before dawn when the sky was still black and colorless. This morning had been warmer than most; goosebumps hadn't formed on her arms and the blowing wind hadn't sent a sharp chill up her spine. Rather, the air was warm, sticky, and humid, like freshly drawn blood. It was a portent for the day, an omen perhaps. Blood would be spilled by the time the sky reverted to a colorless black, and no one, not even her, would be safe.

At dawn, when the sky was finally illuminated with color, they reached the city of sparkling lights. The Capitol, Sereina knew from her map that she had told no one about. To her ally, it was just a beautiful city of flashing lights and vibrant colors, but to her, it was the Capitol. The sheer thought of it made her sick, and a small part of her wished she hadn't discovered that crumpled piece of paper.

Sometimes, it was better to not know.

Celeste was carrying all the supplies for the trap; the bag slung over her shoulder while her spear was gripped tightly in her hand. She had insisted on carrying all the supplies herself, as she claimed that Sereina was still in too weak a state to have that weight on her shoulders—literally. However, she doubted her ally cared. It was probably just a stunt to make her feel more secure before Celeste slit her throat anyway.

"Here," Celeste declared after they had been walking for some time. "I want the trap here."

Sereina nodded, stepping towards Celeste and unzippering the bag full of supplies. In the distance, she could see the golden cornucopia glittering in the rising sun, shining like the crown the victor of the games would receive when they were the last one standing. However, she couldn't stare at it for too long, for it hurt her eyes. She looked back at the bag and began to take out what she needed.

"So, what's the plan?" Sereina asked as she began to assemble the trap. "Am I going to be the bait?"

Her ally shook her head. "No, I'm going to be."

Sereina looked up from her work, blinking confusedly at Celeste. _Why? Why would someone risk their life like that when they had a person that could do it for them?_ She decided it was probably just part of her plan to make Sereina trust her. It would never happen though. She attempted to kill her. There was no trust for Celeste left in her, no matter how hard the girl tried to make something out of nothing.

"You're going to be waiting for me at a safe location while I run out and distract Eris or Alaric—whoever is there. Then, once I trap them, I'll meet up with you and we can grab the bags and go, okay?"

Sereina nodded her head, standing and beginning to shimmy up a lamppost where she was going to tie the rope of her trap to. "Okay, and are you sure whoever we're trapping won't see the rope and run out of the way? It's pretty visible—it works far better in long grass."

She paused before responding. "I'll make sure their eyes are on me," she muttered. "They won't see it."

"Alright," Sereina replied, finishing her knot and shimming back down the lamppost. "The trap is done. Now, all we have to do was wait until noon when the feast begins."

However, Sereina's statement wasn't totally true. While Celeste's work was done, Sereina's work wasn't. She still had another trap to build, and this one, Celeste had no idea about.

But again, sometimes it was better not to know.

* * *

 _Jaxs Williamson, 18, District 5 Male._

"We're early," Jaxs announced, looking up at the blazing sun. Today, it was abnormally hot in the arena, and small beads of sweat rolled down his face like water cascading down the side of the mountain. Plus, it wasn't even noon yet, the sun still a few degrees short of being directly above his head. It was only going to get hotter.

Cinder nodded, looking around the narrow street with wide eyes.

"You looking for your girlfriend?" Jaxs teased, elbowing him playfully on his side.

Cinder's face flushed bright red, and he shook his head quickly in defense. "No! She's not my girlfriend," he replied embarrassedly. "We're just friends if she even thinks of us that way after I abandoned her. But I'm going to make it right today. I'm going to find her, and then we'll be good again."

Jaxs winked his eye, chuckling. "Okay, but I still think there is a little something-something going on."

"No!" Cinder protested. "It's nothing!"

Jaxs laughed, and Cinder caught the infection too, finding himself giggling. Back at home, Jaxs never would have thought he could laugh so much—let alone make jokes and tease his friends. He was always the stoic and emotionless one who never laughed, or smiled, or cried, or was angry. He always just was.

However, here, he found himself showing more emotion. His parents always discouraged it—if he wanted to be mayor someday like them he would need to be poker-faced and impressionless. Yet, he wasn't going to be mayor someday. The odds were that he was going to die in the games, so why not make the most of them and laugh as much as he could here to make up for all those years of holding it back?

Plus, he had never had someone he felt as deep a connection with as his ally Cinder. They had been through literal hell together with Lux and understood each other in ways no one else could. Although he had friends at home, he had never felt as close to them as he did with Cinder. Cinder was always there for him, and always cared about his feelings and listened to him when he talked about his problems. Back in Five, everyone had just told him that mayor's kids didn't have problems, and to shut up about them. But Cinder listened. Cinder always listened—and to Jaxs, he was like a brother.

"What happens if we don't see each other again?" Jaxs blurted out, thinking about their plan to separate today. Jaxs was going to get the supplies, while Cinder was going to find Arilli. If all went according to plan, they were going to meet up after the feast and go back to the beach together. _But what if everything didn't go according to plan?_

Cinder blinked at him, not having an answer right away. "We'll see each other again, we have to," he replied optimistically.

Jaxs nodded his head mutely, wanting to agree and be as hopeful as his ally. However, there was still a doubt in his mind that maybe this would be their last time together. He didn't want it to be that way.

Then, in the distance, a horn sounded, indicating the feast had begun. Jaxs felt short of breath and frozen in place. Cinder stared at him, his eyes wide.

"It'll be okay Jaxs," Cinder comforted, giving him a weak smile. "We'll see each other again, I promise. Don't be afraid."

Jaxs nodded his head. "Cinder—"

But before he could finish, Cinder was running towards him, enveloping him in a warm hug. The short boy wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him tightly. Jaxs blinked his eyes in surprise, not knowing what to do. His parents had never really hugged him, how did he respond to this?

Then, he listened to his gut and leaned down, hugging Cinder back. His eyes brimmed with watery tears. The feast usually ended in deaths. Hopefully, it wouldn't be either of their cannon's sounding today.

"This isn't goodbye, okay?" Cinder muttered, looking up at him. "It'll be okay—it always ends up okay. My brother told me that when I was little, and I believe him. Everything works itself out in the end, okay?"

"Okay," Jaxs breathed, and Cinder unwrapped his arms and stepped back. "Okay," he repeated, trying to assure himself that Cinder was right, and it all worked out in the end.

Then Cinder turned, beginning to run off to go find his district partner.

"Wait!" Jaxs yelped after him.

Cinder whipped back around, glancing at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't do this. It's too dangerous—and people usually die at the feast. I—"

"We have to do this," Cinder replied assuredly. "We have to, I have to make things right with Arilli, and we need water since we don't have any. Don't be afraid."

"Okay," Jaxs whispered, then Cinder turned back around and disappeared behind a corner, his body out of view. Jaxs took a deep breath in, and turned towards the cornucopia, inhaling slowly.

"It will be alright," he murmured.

Then, he ran out into the blinding light of the square, beaming with fake confidence and false bravery. _He could do it. He could do it._

* * *

 _Eris Valliano, 18, District 1 Male._

"Finally," Eris muttered to himself, his lips curving into a smile. He was hidden in the shadows of the cornucopia, standing under the overhang where the rays of sunlight couldn't reach. It was dark enough under here so no one could spot him—not even the dumb, tall boy running towards the table filled with supplies.

Within seconds, the boy with a white five on his back reached the table and was beginning to sift through the bags, grabbing one with a 5M on it and two more with black twelves on them. Eris watched with piqued interest, thinking that the boy was really smart and not dumb—taking all the bags he could manage and stealing from others, or he was, in reality, dumb like he had first thought and had decided to take the punch of his allies by volunteering to collect all of the supplies for them. Either way, it didn't matter. The boy would be dead soon enough.

Then, when the boy had finally collected all the bags and his hands were full, Eris leaped out of the darkness, sprinting towards him. His sword glinted brightly in the shiny light of the midday sun, glittering brighter than the shimmering buildings surrounding the square.

The tall boy saw him out of the corner of his eye and began to run faster. "Cinder! Cinder!" He was screeching now, but no Cinder appeared from anywhere. The rest of the square was as deserted as a desert—everyone was either in hiding or hadn't yet arrived.

With the three bags in his hands, the boy couldn't run that fast, and Eris easily caught up to him. With one slash of his sword, he created a foot-long gash across the boy's back. Blood gushed out, spraying in Eris' face as he lunged towards the boy again, creating another long cut in his back. The boy yelped, stumbling forward and falling onto his stomach, the three bags breaking his fall.

"Cinder! Cinder!" The boy, who Eris had finally recognized to be Jaxs, screamed.

Eris just smiled. "Cinder isn't coming to save you now," he chortled. "You're all mine."

Then, he swung his sword downwards, but Jaxs was quick. He rolled out of the way, and Eris's sword punctured one of the bags instead, clear water flooding out. _Was he going to die over a measly jug of water?_ Pathetic.

He raised his sword again; however, before he could lower it into Jaxs's fleshy body, his target took a knife out of his pocket and hurled it towards him. Eris ducked, and the knife sailed over his head, clattering to the ground yards behind him.

"Oh, you're a fighter?" Eris asked, raising his brow. "Too bad. I was going to make this kill quick, but I guess you want it to be long and painful, huh?"

Jaxs roared, reaching into his pocket and taking out another silver knife. He rolled up onto his knees as Eris slashed at where he was a second ago, then aimed the knife right at his throat. However, Jaxs missed, and the knife sailed to the right of him, missing by a mere inch.

"Close one!" Eris chuckled, slashing his sword at Jaxs again. He tried to stand on his feet to dodge the blow, but he wasn't fast enough and Eris's sword cut into his arm, more blood gushing out. It looked like a red waterfall. Jaxs screamed in pain and fell to the ground again.

"Cinder!" He yelped again, his voice muffled by the pool of blood he was lying in. "Help! Cinder, I need you! You promised!"

Then, with one fluid motion, Eris stabbed his sword right into the tall boy's back, and Jaxs's body twitched twice before going limp. Pulling his sword out of his sticky flesh, Eris noticed it was coated with blood. For a moment, he felt bad—he had just killed an innocent boy and taken a life that could never be replaced. The blood on the sword shimmered, and it blinded his vision so he could only see red. Red: the color of blood, the color of death.

But then the feeling was gone, and his lust for blood and victory returned.

"Who is next?" He roared, looking out into the empty city streets. "Who wants to come and get their prize?"

No one dared.

* * *

 _Cinder Newport, 14, District 12 Male._

Frantic yelps chorused from the cornucopia two or so blocks away. Cinder looked down at his stepping feet, trying to ignore them. His face was white with terror and fear still, for he knew who those yelps might belong to.

 _Jaxs._

However, he convinced himself that it wasn't his ally—Jaxs was smart and strong. He would know better than to just run out into the cornucopia without looking, and it would be common sense to hang back for a few minutes and wait before making a move for the bags on the table. It hadn't been a few minutes yet, so it couldn't be Jaxs. It had to be someone else. It had to be.

"Cinder! Cinder!" A familiar voice screeched frantically.

Jaxs. That was Jaxs' voice. His ally was in trouble. Cinder felt his knees begin to buckle beneath him, his face turning paler then it had been before. It looked bleach white now: the color of freshly fallen snow. Gripping his bow tighter, he knew what he had to do.

"Hold on Jaxs!" He screamed back. "I'm coming!"

Turning around, he began to sprint toward the open city square. His feet were flying against the pavement, and his heart was thumping faster than he ever thought possible. The only thing on his mind was Jaxs, he completely forgot about Arilli and his plan to find her. He needed to find Jaxs. He needed to save him.

"Cinder! Help!" Jaxs yelped in terror. "Cinder, I need you! You promised!"

Cinder was so close; he could see the open square now. It was only a hundred or so yards away, the golden cornucopia glittering in the distance like a bejeweled crown.

"I'm coming!" He shouted. "One more minute Jaxs!"

Then, he was there, his feet abruptly halting at the line where the narrow street met the square. Peaking his head out of the shadows that the tall buildings created, he saw the tall body of the boy from One with a bloody sword in his hands. He stood triumphantly over a body lying face first in a pool of crimson blood, the boy's once brown hair stained a vivid red. Cinder's eyes widened, and his body began to tremble like he was in the center of an earthquake.

He was too late. Jaxs was dead.

It took everything in him to hold back a scream.

It was his fault—it was all his fault. He should have been the one to get the supplies—he should have been the one who died. Not Jaxs. It shouldn't have been Jaxs. Jaxs should have been doing the safe job of looking for Arilli, not him. Jaxs' death was his fault. It was his fault that Jaxs was dead.

The world was spinning now, the glistening buildings no longer tall and straight rectangles. They had transformed into looping and curving swirls before his eyes; the vivid colors dancing around him like butterflies fluttering through a meadow.

Then, there was blood: lots of it. It splattered on the wings of the dancing butterflies, causing them to fall to the ground. He tried to scream, but he was already falling, falling right into a meadow of soft flowers and dead butterflies.

He needed to find Arilli. He needed to make things right. Arilli would fix this—Arilli would forgive him and then he wouldn't be the awful person he was. He wouldn't be a killer; he wouldn't be a betrayer. She'd make things right.

"Who is next? Who wants to come and claim their prize?" Eris roared, but Cinder couldn't hear him. All he could hear was Jaxs' terrified wails ringing in his ears, deafening him. _Jaxs was dead. His ally was dead._

He tried to turn back around to find her, but he was still falling—right into the field of flowers, blood, and dead butterflies. Stumbling back into the shadowy street, he rounded a corner. His vision was slowly fading to black. Then, he hit something hard and the world turned to night. There were no stars in this night either. Everything was just black.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

Her breaths were short and shallow, and she was running, but to where, she could only guess.

Originally, she had planned to get bandages for her ribs that Grace had broken or at least fractured two days ago, but when she saw Eris kill Jaxs, she knew Cinder wouldn't be far behind him. Most likely still under Lux's control, he'd be the next person Lux sent to the death to try to do her dirty work now that Jaxs had died. She needed to find him and stop him before he could do anything stupid that could get himself killed. She still cared about him, no matter whose spell he was under or who he was taking mindless orders from. He was her friend, and she still needed to make sure he was alright.

Knife gripped tightly in her hand, she ran through the narrow city streets. All of them were empty.

 _Cinder, where are you?_

Then, she rounded a corner and felt her body collide with something solid and fleshy. Letting out a terrified shriek, she began to stab at the body with her knife, screaming and tearing at the air like a savage beast. In the confusion, she didn't see who it was until it was too late. She just kept stabbing and stabbing, only caring about her safety.

Suddenly, she saw the dark hair and a pair of wide and afraid grey eyes that seemed to not be present, as if the tribute was lost in another world. Then, the eyes rolled back and the tribute collapsed to the ground, crimson blood trickling out of the freshly inflicted stab wounds. Stumbling back, she let out another shriek.

 _The tribute was Cinder. She had just stabbed Cinder._

He lay on the ground, his head and chest slumped over his legs like a limp ragdoll. His clothes were coated in his own red blood that was pouring out of three giant gashes. One was on his side, the other was just above his left hip, and the third was just to the right of his shoulder blade.

Her eyes widened at the realization of what she had just done. She had little time to think about it though, for she quickly dropped her knife onto the blood-stained pavement and ran over to him. Kneeling down, she began to shake his shoulders wildly.

"Wake up! Wake up!" She screamed at him, shaking him harder and harder. Her hands were stained red now with his blood. Tears streamed out of her eyes, and she continued to wail at him.

"Come on, wake up!"

This couldn't be real. He couldn't be dead. He was dreaming; she was dreaming too. In a moment, they'd all wake up and everything would be alright.

"WAKE UP!" She screamed again, but she didn't know if she was talking to Cinder or herself this time.

Then, as if he had heard her, his eyes slowly fluttered open, and he let out a weak whimper. Arilli smiled weakly in relief, but her body continued to tremble violently.

Cinder opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He instead let out a wail of pain.

"Shh," Arilli murmured, wrapping her arm around his back. "It's okay—it's okay. Y—y—you'll—b—be fine," she stuttered, lifting him up slightly so she could see his face. It was twisted up in pain and shock, and his once shimmering eyes looked dull and dead.

"A—Arilli?" He asked, looking up at her in disbelief.

"Yes, it's me," she replied softly, stroking his hair gently. She still shook like she was a volcano about to erupt, unstable and unsteady. Silver tears rolled down her face, but she didn't try to hold them back. "It's me—I'm here."

Cinder tried to smile, but he couldn't. His face was permanently locked in a pained and sad expression, unable to revert to his usual happy and bright demeanor. "I—I'm happy to see you."

Arilli smiled through the tears. "M—me too," she murmured.

Cinder moaned in pain, trying to sit up. Arilli pushed him back into her arms. "Save your energy," she muttered. "I'll protect you, okay?"

He stared up at her blankly, red blood beginning to run out of his mouth. "Arilli?"

"What?" She asked, her tears falling on his bloody body and then rolling onto the pavement.

"D—do you forgive me?" He stuttered weakly, raising his hand and wincing. He placed it on her chest, and Arilli felt a shiver run down her spine.

She cried harder. She could be the one asking for forgiveness, not him. "O—of course," she murmured. "You saved me."

 _And as payment, she had killed him._

Cinder's eyes were beginning to close again, his lips quivering. A ring of blood was beginning to form around him on the pavement, shimmering in the midday sun. "I—I—I'm sorry."

The tears flowed harder. "No!" She protested. "Don't leave! Don't leave! You'll be okay, I promise—I promise. I was the one who did this to you, I have to fix it. I'll make sure you're okay, I won't leave. You'll live, okay? Stay with me, please."

Cinder's eyes fluttered open again, and he let out another whimper. He stared up at her with wide and afraid eyes. He looked at her like she was a monster. "Y—you did this?"

Arilli nodded her head slowly. "Yes—but it was an accident Cinder, I swear!" She yelped defensively. "I didn't know who you were, and you startled me. But I'll make it right! You won't die, I promise!"

Cinder blinked, his gaze softening. Then, he lowered his hand and place it back down on the ground. "I—it's okay," he whimpered. "I—I—forgive you."

His eyes slowly began to close, and he moaned again. "I—I'm not afraid."

"No!" Arilli screeched. "I have to make this right, you have to live! I'll save you Cinder, don't give up on me! I need you! I'll do anything! I'll kill Lux, I'll go get all the packages and bandages and medicine to make you better! Don't leave!"

Cinder's eyes were only open a fraction of an inch now, the grey barely visible under the red lids. "It's okay Arilli, I forgive you."

"No!"

His eyes were closed all the way now, and his breathing was beginning to slow. "J—just win, okay? I—I forgive you."

"No, you can't leave! I can't live with myself if you died—I'd be a murderer!" She wailed.

Cinder's lips curved upwards ever so slightly, and his eyes fluttered open again. Raising his hand off the ground an inch or so, he let out a groan. Then, he reached for the blood-soaked knife lying a by his side on the pavement.

"You won't be a murderer," he whimpered, bringing the knife to his throat. Arilli let out a loud screech, reaching forwards to grab the knife out of his hand. But it was already too late, and the knife had broken Cinder's skin and red blood was oozing out, joining with the rest pooled on the pavement beneath him. Cinder's head went limp against her arm and his grey eyes rolled back.

"No!" Arilli howled, grabbing the knife and throwing it against one of the buildings. It hit it with a loud dinging noise, flying off it and clattering against the ground. "No! No! No!"

She was screaming uncontrollably now, banging her fists against the bloody ground. Red splattered everywhere—hitting the buildings, the pavement, her face, and Cinder's limp body. Tears stained her cheeks and face, dripping down her chin and onto her clothes. She tugged at her hair, scratching at her scalp and running her long fingernails against the side of her head like a maniac.

Then, a cannon sounded, and the world went silent.

Looking down, she saw that Cinder's lips were still curved into a slight smile.

He may forgive her, but she'd never forgive herself.

* * *

 _Celeste Agreste, 16, District 7 Female._

She leaned against one of the tall buildings, watching Eris wipe the blood off of his shiny sword. Feet in front of him, a boy she never knew lay face-first in a pool of his own blood: dead. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they'd be glossy and lifeless. Maybe it was better that she couldn't see them. Then she could pretend that they were still full of life, shimmering like her's were now.

The short shadow of the building concealed her presence, shading her from Eris's view. She watched as his eyes danced from street to street, looking for another challenger to come into the bullring. Gulping, she remembered that in a minute, she'd be in there too, running for her life. But it'd only be for a minute. She could do anything for a minute, even dance with the devil.

Somewhere in the city streets, a girl was screaming like a maniac. She ignored her but wished her screams would go away. Eris seemed to have heard them to but ignored them. He wanted to hold his ground here most likely—everyone hiding in the shadows like she did would most likely run if he went after her. She assumed that he thought staying here would be more important in the long run. It was true.

A cannon sounded, and Eris looked back to the dead body lying face-first in a pool of blood. His cannon had already gone off, which meant another person had died. They were down to seven now, and the feast had barely even begun.

"Confidence," she told herself, "have confidence."

Then, inhaling, she stepped out of the shadow and into the blinding light of the city square. "No what ifs, no maybes, no I'm not sures. You're sure. You abandoned Raleigh to do this, you saved Sereina to do this. You're sure."

Breaking into a run, she ran right into Eris's field of vision. She could barely breathe she was so nervous, her insides feeling tight and statue-like.

Eris grinned, his eyes finding her. He proceeded to watch her with a hungry gaze. Please be fast enough, she prayed. Please.

Then she stopped, looking Eris right in the eyes. Her gaze challenged him, it dared him to move closer. His grin just grew wider.

"You want to fight me, Seven?" He asked, his tone suggesting he was amused.

"No," she croaked weakly. "I just want my bag."

He twisted his head around, looking towards the table littered with numbered bags. Then, he looked back at her.

"Well, if you want the bag, you'll have to go through me first."

Everything happened so fast after that. She saw Eris charging at her like an angry bull, and she turned and ran as fast as she could. Her heart was thumping faster than she ever thought possible, and her legs were flying across the pavement like an Olympic athlete. Soon she was out of the square and in the narrow alleyway, the sun now obscured by the tall buildings. Eris was still tearing after her.

Eris was growling behind her, his footsteps growing quicker. Her breathing was short and harsh and inconstant—she was afraid. _What if he caught her? What if she died? What if the trap didn't activate?_

"You can't outrun me forever, Seven!" He howled as they continued to race down the narrow street. He was gaining on her, only feet away now. _She wasn't going to make it._

The trap came quicker than she anticipated. Thankfully, she saw it a few feet in advance, and was able to leap over it. Eris wasn't so lucky though. When he stepped into the trap, he went sailing into the air, his sword clattering to the ground. He had dropped in in his shock and now was suspended eight feet in the air—weaponless and trapped.

She heard his screams and knew he was caught, but she didn't bother to look back. She just kept running and running and running until the nervous feeling in her stomach disappeared, and she could no longer hear his angry shouts echoing off the tall building walls.

The girl had stopped screaming too, and Celeste wondered if that cannon had been her's.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He heard Eris's screams from a mile away. They were loud and angry—he was screaming for the "rat" from District Seven to come back and give him a fair fight. Alaric couldn't help but chuckle at that. _Hadn't he said that same thing to Albert and Lena when he was fighting them?_ Eris was great at making enemies, he'd at least give him that.

Stepping out into the sunny city square, Alaric was surprised to see that it was nearly empty. The only living thing—or once living thing rather—was the boy from District Five lying face first in a pool of his own red blood. Alaric walked over to it, giving the body a gentle poke with the end of his sword. The body rolled over onto its side, it's entire front half covered in dripping red blood.

"Yuck, at least you could clean up your mess, Eris," he chuckled, stepping over the pool of blood and continuing to follow Eris's loud and angry shouts. "No one wants to see that."

He had crossed the cornucopia now and reached the table stocked with bags, picking up the one with a white two on the front. For good measure, he took Eris's too, opening it up. Inside was a pair of new clothes, including a clean and shiny pair of sneakers. He slipped his old and tattered ones off, putting on the ones that were supposed to be for Eris. Surprisingly, they were a near perfect fit.

"Who would have known I had the same shoe size as Mr. Honor," he exclaimed, examining how the shoes looked on his feet. If he was being honest, they looked pretty fine. Plus, they fit well and were comfortable. He grinned, continuing to walk toward Eris's voice.

Reaching the edge of the city square, Alaric peered down one of the narrow streets that Eris's voice seemed to be coming from. His eyes widened, and he let out a loud laugh. A few hundred yards away, Eris's large body was trapped in a net, suspended a few feet off the ground. How ironic.

Striding down the street, Alaric didn't bother containing his smile. Eris hadn't seen him yet, as he was still shouting after the girl and looking in the direction she came from as if she was going to come back.

Once he was a few feet under the net, Alaric opened his mouth to speak.

"You know, I wouldn't scream for her to come back here and cut you down. The only thing she's going to come back here with is a spear to kill your fat ass," Alaric chuckled.

Eris screamed, twisting around in his net to face Alaric. His jaw hung open, and his eyes were wide in disbelief.

"Y—y—" he began to stutter, yet Alaric didn't give him the chance to finish.

"Yep, I'm back from the dead, bitch."

Eris screamed again, beginning to tear and claw at his net like he was a caged animal trying desperately to get free.

"It's no use," Alaric chortled. "Trust me, I tried that too."

"Y—you're not real," Eris stuttered, his eyes as wide as a dear in the headlights.

Alaric laughed, rolling his eyes. He pretended to inspect his body as if he were trying to see whether or not he was actually here. "No, I'm pretty sure I am. Should I pinch you to make sure you aren't dreaming?"

Eris didn't respond, his mouth still wide with awe.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alaric chimed, taking a step forward so he was directly under the net. Then, he jumped and swiped at Eris's leg with his sword, creating a bloody gash about the length of his arm. Eris gritted his teeth and grunted, quickly clutching the spot where Alaric's sword had cut his leg. He clutched it feverishly, trying to get the blood to stop. However, his efforts were to no avail, and crimson blood began to rain down on Alaric, dripping into his hair.

"You still think I'm not real?" Alaric asked, blinking at his former ally. Eris only stared back at him, not responding.

"How?" He gawked after some time of staring at him like he had two heads.

Alaric wiped the blood from his shiny sword, grinning. "I escaped."

"But how?"

"I'm a wizard and have magical powers of telekinesis and I can cut things with my mind."

Eris growled.

"There you go!" Alaric chortled. "I knew the grumpy Eris was still in there somewhere."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance, you f—"

Alaric wagged his finger at him. "No, no, no! There are children watching!"

Eris hissed, snapping his jaws at Alaric like a wolf.

"But yes, in retrospect, you should have probably killed me. Who knew it would be your stupid eye-for-an-eye crap that would deal you in? Oh, I don't know, the entire world!" He exclaimed, laughing again.

Eris grunted, wiggling his hand through the net and trying to reach for his sword.

"It's eight feet away. You're never going to reach it," Alaric jabbered.

He growled. "You've done more impossible things."

Alaric shrugged. "True, true. But I am a wizard like I told you."

Ignoring him, Eris continued to reach for the sword. However, after a few minutes, he realized he was too far away and contracted his hand back with a grunt. He looked back at Alaric, his eyes still somewhat wide in disbelief. "Can you just get this over with?"

Faking a frown, Alaric pretended to look sad. "Oh, but I liked watching you make a fool out of yourself."

"Yeah, I know you did. Just do your little spiel about irony, and betrayal, and leaving me up here to die like I left you. You're annoying me with all your jokes."

Alaric laughed, running his fingers along the blade of his sword. "You really haven't learned, have you?"

Eris blinked. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Alaric frowned for real this time. "I'm not an idiot. I don't care about honor and irony and all that crap about karma and it getting back to you. I don't think it exists. I'm not going to leave you up here because you might escape. I did it, and although I am a wizard, it's completely probable that another tribute could come and feel sorry for you and cut you down. Then you'd be free and it'd be another problem for me to worry about. So, no, I'm not going to make the same mistake as you and leave you here to die."

"So are you going to let me go?"

Alaric snorted. "No, you idiot, I'm going to kill you."

Walking over to Eris's sword that lay on the ground, Alaric picked it up and tossed it across the street. It went sailing a few yards before clattering to the ground. "I'm not making this mistake either."

"Wait—I'm doing this for my loved ones, I'm here for them," he pleaded urgently. "I'm doing this to make them proud. They're expecting me to come home—I—I can't let them down."

"We all have loved ones, not only you," Alaric growled. "You're not any different from the rest of us."

"At least give me a fair fight then—my grandmother—it would break her heart seeing me go down this way. I need to show her I'm strong."

"Sorry, but I don't fight fair," Alaric growled, swiping his sword against the rope net and cutting it open. Eris plummeted out, and in midair Alaric slashed at him, cutting across his chest. He yelped in pain, continuing to fall. He tried to land on his feet but failed, landing right on his knees and scrapping them open.

Alaric hissed, stepping forward and cutting at Eris's back. He grunted and tried to move out of the way, yet Alaric was quicker. The sword cut through his flesh.

Dropping into his hands, Eris turned and tried to scramble towards his sword. Yet, on his hands and knees, he was slow, and Alaric easily caught up to him. With one stabbing motion, Alaric raised his sword high into the air and jabbed it right into the center of Eris's back. Eris screeched, his arms and legs buckling from under him. He fell to the ground, his muscular body limp as a ragdoll.

As Alaric pulled his sword out of Eris's back, and a cannon sounded.

"Goodnight sweet prince," Alaric chuckled, bending down and running his hand through the blood on Eris' back. Then, he swiped his fingers across his face, using the District One boy's blood like war paint.

He was the king now.

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

Three cannons later, Celeste came running into the small grassy patch near one of the streets that lead to the cornucopia where Sereina had been camping out, her face dripping with sweat.

"I thought you were dead," Sereina breathed, standing to her feet.

"Yeah, me too," Celeste huffed, placing her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath.

"So, did you do it?" She asked.

Her ally nodded her head quickly. "Yeah, Eris is trapped. I have a feeling one of those cannons belonged to him to. Raleigh or Alaric probably finished him off—in that trap he's an easy target."

Sereina nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. _One target down, two more to go._

"Hey, what's that?" Sereina asked, pointing to a small crumpled piece of paper lying on the ground a few feet away from her.

Narrowing her eyes, Celeste looked down to the pavement. "I don't know," she murmured, stepping towards it and picking it up. She began to uncrumple it, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Sereina smiled, leaping to her feet and moving behind Celeste as if she was trying to look over her shoulder at what the piece of paper was. But she already knew. It was the map.

Then, with all her might, Sereina gave Celeste a push. The girl stumbled forward, her foot catching on the snare that Sereina had placed there hours earlier while Celeste was using the bathroom. Celeste let out a scream, her body propelling into the air. She hung upside down by her foot, her head inches from the pavement. Surprisingly, she had managed to hold onto the spear.

"What—what's going on?" She stuttered, looking around with wide and afraid eyes.

"I don't trust you," Sereina hissed, bending down so they were face-to-face. "You tried to kill me, and now that you used me to build the trap and catch Eris, there is no need for you to keep me around."

"No!" Celeste protested, gripping her spear tighter. All the blood was beginning to flow to her head, and she felt nauseous. "I—I swear I wasn't going to kill you, I promise!"

Sereina shook her head back and forth. "You'll say anything now that you're trapped. I still don't trust you or believe you."

Celeste let out a wail. "Please! I saved you because I trusted you, and I would have just stayed with Raleigh and killed you if I wanted you gone! I don't! I want you to be my ally!"

Sereina stood to her feet, beginning to back away. "No. There is nothing that can make up for you trying to kill me. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Then, she turned and began to walk towards the cornucopia, where her bag would be waiting. She didn't want to hear Celeste's wails anymore. She was just saying anything to save her own skin, and once she let her down, Celeste would kill her.

 _But what if she was telling the truth?_

 _She wasn't,_ Sereina told herself. _She tried to kill you._ And now, even if she was telling the truth, Celeste wouldn't ever trust her again after what happened today. There was nothing she could do now but leave.

"Please!" Celeste pleaded. "I swear I never wanted to hurt you!"

Sereina held her hands over her ears, not wanting to listen anymore. However, a bad feeling twisted around in her stomach like a sickness or a bug. _Celeste wasn't telling the truth. She wasn't._

"Sereina, please!"

She didn't turn back.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He was at the table collecting his bag when he heard a high-pitched scream that he had heard once before—right when Tristan died.

 _Celeste._

He turned away from it, getting ready to leave and run back to the barn. Yet, he heard the distressed yelp again. It sounded like she was in trouble, _had something happened with Sereina?_

Growling, he turned back in the direction of the barn. Celeste had abandoned him, she wasn't his ally anymore. If she was having an issue with Sereina it was her own fault, she should have known better then to trust Tiny. He didn't care about her, and she didn't care about him. If she did, she wouldn't have left him alone in the barn yesterday.

Taking a step, he heard it again. His mind was telling him to leave, Celeste would only bring unnecessary trouble and could possibly get him hurt, or worse: killed. However, something inside him wanted to see what was going on and if she was alright. He told himself it was his curiosity, but really, he knew it wasn't.

Breaking into a run, he followed his ears.

"Sereina! Please!" He heard Celeste yell when he was almost at the edge of the city square.

Then, he turned onto a street and his eyes went wide. Dangling upside down was Celeste, her face flushed red with all the blood that must have rushed to her head. Silver tears ran down her cheeks, a small puddle of them pooled right beneath her.

"Celeste!" He yelped, darting down the street and rushing towards her.

"Raleigh!" She screamed back, her eyes landing on them. They were wide and full of fear, and everything in him wanted to help her. However, she had broken his trust. _Who was to say she wouldn't do it again?_

He paused a few feet in front of her, his feet stopping abruptly. He scanned her body. She seemed to be unharmed, save for the purple patch of skin around where the snare had caught her leg and was suspending her in the air.

"Raleigh!" Celeste bawled, more tears streaming down her face. "I—I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have trusted Sereina, you were right, she was nothing but a rat!"

Raleigh looked at her, expressionless. The betrayal he had felt when he woke up yesterday morning began to rush back to him, turning his face red.

"I told you," he muttered.

"I know!" Celeste exclaimed. "I should have listened! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have abandoned you, you were my real friend and she was nothing but a liar!"

Raleigh blinked, his mouth hanging open. He should be cutting her down, she confessed that she was wrong and that he was right. But something was holding him back. "Why?"

"Why what?" Celeste wailed, more tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Why did you abandon me?" He asked, his tone turning harsh and urgent.

"I—I thought she was innocent. She reminded me of Tristan—and—I—I couldn't watch you kill her."

"I wasn't going to kill her if she helped us. I would have let her go. I told you that. Why didn't you believe me?"

Celeste continued to cry. "I—I just didn't."

Raleigh growled. "Then why should I believe you now? What if you are luring me into another trap right now, what if you are the bait?"

"I'm not!" Celeste wailed. "I'm not!"

Raleigh gripped his spear tighter, his face beginning to flush red with anger. "You lied to me once, who is to say you aren't doing it again?"

"I swear!" Celeste cried. "I need you Raleigh! Please! Believe me!"

He blinked at her, conflicted. After the mess with Tiny and Celeste, he didn't know who to believe anymore. Then, he heard a chuckle behind him.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. I see that you two are having some relationship issues?" The voice chortled, laughing giddily.

Raleigh whipped around, his wide eyes meeting Alaric's. Celeste began to scream louder.

"Raleigh, I swear I'm not lying! Let me down! Let me down! I swear! I'll do anything you want me to if I can earn your trust again! Please!" She yelled frantically.

Alaric chuckled. "You really should be a little quieter, Seven. But I do thank you for trapping Eris. It made my job so much easier."

"Raleigh!" Celeste screamed. "Please!"

Raleigh looked at his spear, then back to Alaric. This was a fight he couldn't win, even if he had luck on his side. He turned back around to Celeste, meeting her frightened gaze.

"Raleigh, please. We can fight him together, we've done it before. Cut me down—please. I won't lie to you anymore."

He took another step towards Celeste, and she let out a relieved sigh. She tried to meet his eyes, but he was just looking at his shuffling feet. Then, he ran.

"Raleigh! Raleigh!" She screeched at the top of her lungs, her voice getting fainter and fainter with every step he took. Alaric was just laughing, running the blade of his sword against her soft skin. "Raleigh! Please! Raleigh! Don't leave me!"

Tears were streaming down Raleigh's face, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. He knew that he couldn't run away from his problems forever, but right now, that was the only option he had.

Her cannon didn't go off for a while, and Raleigh tried not to wonder why it had taken so long.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She saw the large career disappear into one of the side streets, and she knew that now was her chance.

Running out into the blinding sun, she noticed that someone else—another small girl like her—had the same idea. They were both sprinting toward the table right in front of the glimmering cornucopia, watching each other out of the corner of their eyes. Both knew that the other wasn't dangerous on their own—they were both small girls with little muscle and barely over five feet, and neither of them could kill.

Lux reached the table first, grabbing the bag with the white 5F on it. She didn't see Cinder, Jaxs, or Arilli's bag anywhere, so she instead grabbed the District Two male's bag. The girl opposite her had the same idea, she was not only reaching for her own bag but for the District Seven female's and the District Six male's. She wondered if they were her allies, or if she was stealing like her.

"Hi," Lux murmured, and the girl turned around to face her with wide eyes. She didn't say anything and slowly backed away from Lux.

"Wait, don't go!" Lux called after the girl, but she was already running. "I need help!"

The girl didn't stop, continuing to run toward the safety of the closed off streets.

"My allies betrayed me! I need help, please!"

Then girl stopped abruptly, her feet skidding to a stop. She turned around, her eyes wide. "What?" She asked, blinking at Lux a few times.

"My allies, they betrayed me!" She exclaimed dramatically, hoping her acting would be good enough to fool the girl. Apparently, this had been a weak spot for the girl, for if she didn't care, she wouldn't have turned around. Lux needed to milk this as much as possible.

"I'm sorry," the girl muttered. She looked like she was going to say something else, but she ended up choking on her own words.

"I—I don't know what I'm going to do," Lux sniffled.

"You'll be alright," the girl assured her, taking another step back. Shoot, she was getting away. Lux was going to have to be more direct.

"I—I don't know," Lux stuttered, pretending to be upset. "I need someone to protect me, I don't know if I'll be able to survive out here on my own. I'm scared my old allies will find me and kill me, I barely escaped with my life. You—you must know how allies betraying you feels, right?"

The girl nodded and stopped taking steps back. She looked at Lux sympathetically. "Well, I guess you could join me. I won't betray you."

Lux wanted to jump for joy, yet she held her glee back. Instead, she gave the girl a weak smile. "Really?"

The girl nodded quickly. "Of course, I know what it's like to feel betrayed. Plus—I—I'm scared one of my old allies is going to find me too."

Lux grinned, trotting up to the girl. "Well, we can protect each other. I'm Lux by the way. What's your name?"

"Sereina."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Anddd another long chapter! The actual writing is about 8.5k, while I talk for a while in the AN. Don't expect the next one out so quick, I'd just been waiting to write this one for months so obviously I'm going to be anxious to write it. I hope you liked it though, beside the bloodbath, I probably enjoyed writing this one most!**_

 _ **Now we're down to five, so who do you want to see win? And who don't you want to see win? I probably won't be doing the F8 interviews, as you know, most of them are dead.**_

 _ **9th Place: Jaxs Williamson, District 5 Male. Stabbed by Eris.**_

 _ **Jaxs, you were a cool tribute. It was a perfect coincidence (not for you) that Lux was your district partner, because I needed someone for her to manipulate, and you were the perfect person! You had been taking orders your whole life and didn't know how to say no, and finally, you did. Your arc was one of my personal favorites with Cinder and Lux and really was the plot driver of the entire story, or at least the first half of it, and I had so much fun writing you! You learned how to say no and in the end I thought really had a chance to live, and your relationship with Cinder was really cute and I think he made you more of an emotional person because for your entire life you were always told to suck it up and no one wanted to see or it hear it, but Cinder loves listening to people's problems so I think he was the perfect companion for you. You had an awesome journey and in the end I think the fact that no one told you that running the cornicopia was a bad idea, and since you really didn't know how to make your own decisions that well, you didn't think it through. In retrospect, I could see you as my victor, but Cinder needed to die here and I didn't really know where to take you after that. Thank you for Jaxs though, Glittergirl, and even though he was resubmitted he was still one of my favorites.**_

 _ **8th Place: Cinder Newport, District 12 Male. Throat Slit by Himself.**_

 _ **OH bOY tHIS kILLED mE. Cinder was one of, if not my favorite tribute in this story and he was such a cute cinnamon roll. I really honestly have no idea how he made it this far but it's probably because I couldn't get rid of him/he was part of like 2 major plot lines but I think this last scene closes the door on them. I think his death was the perfect way for him to go out, as I could see him being selfless enough to do that so Arilli doesn't have to live with the guilt (although she already killed Grace but...) and he finally got to make up with Arilli, which ties that up nicely. Celtic, thank you so much for Cinder, and something on his form (I forget what it was) sparked my inspiration for the Lux plotline, so I don't think the story literally would have been the same without him. And, he topped literally every poll and a part of me wanted to make him victor but that is so unrealistic in my mind so this was I think the furthest he could have gotten. Thank you so so so so much for this cutie.**_

 _ **7th Place: Eris Valliano, District 1 Male. Stabbed by Alaric.**_

 _ **Okay, I think I owe Eris's creator an apology, I kind of messed up with his character and took it in a completely different direction then what I think you wanted it to be. But I hope you still enjoyed him, and while he wasn't my favorite character to write, he was still very essential to the plots of the story. I tried to make him one of the tributes that the games really 'changed' in the sense that he realized he couldn't forget about his kills even if he was a laid back guy at home, and the whole revenge thing really got to him and took him over. He turned into more of a villain though as time progressed, and I did consider him as a victor for sometime, but I felt like I was just confused as where he was going so I just thought this was a good place for him. I liked his relationship with Alaric though, and overall, I think Eris really just had bad luck and got screwed over multiple times. Thank you CreativeAJL for Eris, he was an interesting character to write, though I feel like I never really got him down, he was still a pleasure to have.**_

 _ **6th Place: Celeste Agreste, District 7 Female. Stabbed by Alaric.**_

 _ **Celeste, although not completely popular with you all, was one of my favorites from the beginning. I felt like she was so real and I related to her well, which I why I always found it so easy to write her. I originally had her taking a different path with Tristan and Raleigh and they all were going to be closer but I'm happy that my plan diverged slightly and this is how it turned out. I think she had a nice arc, she learned to be confident in herself but in the end that was what did her in, she trusted the wrong person and her gut ended up being wrong, which sometimes happens. She was a sweetheart though, and I'm sad to see her go. Thank you ChocoDeeDee for her, and while I'm pretty sure you disappeared a while ago, I hope you are happy with her placement.**_

 _ **Alliances:**_

 _ **Lux Has Another Minion: Sereina, Lux**_

 _ **Loners: Alaric, Raleigh, Arilli**_

 _ **To no one's surprise, Cinder won the poll. Arilli was second. I'm not going to put up a winner's poll because I never listen to them anyway.**_

 _ **See you on Day 7!**_

 _ **paper :)**_


	41. Day 7: Living with the Unimaginable

_Day 7: Living with the Unimaginable_

* * *

 _Sereina Ampere, 16, District 3 Female._

She didn't sleep well that night, floating in the grey space between consciousness and unconsciousness. Her wounds still hurt like hell, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw Celeste hanging upside down by her foot, screaming frantically for her to come back. Every time, she'd run away and leave her to die, having no remorse.

 _Celeste wasn't telling the truth,_ she convinced herself. _She wasn't. She was just using you like Raleigh._

 _But what if she was?_

The thought still lingered in her mind like an annoying bug that flew around her head but she was too slow to swat.

 _Maybe that's why she had been so quick to agree to Lux's offer to ally._ She had felt guilty about Celeste and didn't want another innocent girl to die and had wanted to make up for her mistakes. Lux seemed trustworthy enough, and she was obviously in distress. Her allies had abandoned her after all, and she was scared. She was small and looked like she couldn't make it very far on her own. _What was Sereina supposed to do, say no?_

Sereina sat up, blinking her eyes open slowly. Warm light was streaming in through one of the dirt-lined barn windows, illuminating small particles of dust floating through the air. Sereina watched them dance for a while in silence, thinking about Celeste and her graceful and long movements; she wondered if the girl she had been responsible for killing had known how to dance. Her sister had before she died. It was always fun to watch her twirl across the floor, laughing and spinning in a delighted frenzy.

She looked at Lux. Her young ally was still sleeping, her body rising and falling slowly. Her short hair was curled, knotted, and strewn out across the wooden floor. Sereina's sister's hair used to look as wild as that. She'd then ask to braid it, and her sister would always smile and nod her head energetically. She loved to have her hair braided.

"Lux," Sereina whispered, shaking her ally away. Lux grumbled, rolling away from Sereina.

Sereina sighed, climbing to her knees and trying again. She placed her hands on Lux's shoulders, trying to shake her away.

Growling, Lux sat up with an annoyed grimace plastered on her face. "What?" She snapped grumpily. Sereina's smile instantly fell to a frown, and her pale face turned even paler. She inched back, a bit frightened by her ally's unhappy reaction.

Lux blinked her eyes, watching Sereina's confused expression intently.

"Oh, sorry, I just get grumpy in the morning," Lux replied quickly, catching herself. "I didn't mean that if I scared you."

Sereina nodded her head, blinking her eyes slowly. "It's okay."

"Wait, why'd you wake me up?" Lux asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, realizing she didn't really have a reason. She just was done thinking about Celeste and her dead sister. She wanted to occupy her mind with something else—maybe Lux's company—to stop herself from thinking of them. They just made her more frightened than she already was, and the games were a pretty frightening place.

"I—I—I was wondering if I could braid your hair," Sereina stuttered after some time.

Lux furrowed her eyebrows, looking confused. "You—you want to braid my hair?"

Sereina nodded her head mutely.

"No," Lux growled, laying back down and rolling back onto her side. She closed her eyes again, preparing to go back to sleep. "And unless we are in danger of dying, don't wake me up again."

Sighing, Sereina climbed back into her sleeping bag. Lux wasn't her sister, and she definitely wasn't Celeste. And despite what Sereina wanted to think, her ally couldn't replace either of them, no matter how hard she tried.

Sereina decided that maybe surviving wasn't the hardest part of the games—or life for that matter. It was learning to live with her mistakes and move on from them that was the real challenge.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

She woke up on the seventh day in the arena and only had one thing on her mind. Before she died, she had one last thing she had to do on this earth: avenge Cinder.

Somewhere out there, in the grassy plains or tall tree-lined forests of the arena, the person who had ruined Cinder was still breathing, while he was not. Her district partner deserved to still be alive, and that rat deserved to be dead. Arilli believed that all that goes around comes back around, and if she could help it, karma would bite the sick girl from Five in the butt so hard that she would no longer be able to stand, or walk, or live. Hopefully, it'd kill her.

This would be her payback to Cinder, the thing that would allow her to live with what she had done. If she killed Lux, the score would settle, and finally—maybe—she'd be able to forgive herself for killing one of her only friends.

 _But you didn't kill Cinder,_ she reminded herself. _It was him. He killed himself so you wouldn't have to live with the guilt._

She wished that could be enough. She wished that with Cinder's sacrifice, she could be at rest and the weight on her shoulders would have disappeared. But it wasn't enough. She, with her knife, had still ruthlessly stabbed him and mortally wounded him. If it hadn't been for her, Cinder still would have been alive. It was her fault, but she was going to fix it. By killing Lux, she'd make it all right.

Standing to her feet, Arilli grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder. It was the same pack that had been at the feast; it was the same pack she had pried out of Jaxs's cold, dead hands after he and Cinder had both died. Contained within it had been a silver bottle of water and a roll of white bandages for her ribs. Last night, she had wrapped them around her ribcage and by morning she felt a little better. Now, when she walked, she barely felt anything.

Maybe it was the adrenaline though. She couldn't tell.

Through the forest she walked, her eyes narrowed and her ears perked. Animals rustled in the bushes, but she ignored them. For the first time in a long time, she was no longer scared by the unknown sounds and the openness of the landscape. All she cared about was finding Lux, and she'd search day and night until that rat was dead.

She knew inside that this wasn't what Cinder wanted—he was kind, sympathetic, and forgiving. There wasn't a single mean bone in his body. Despite all that Lux dragged him through, he wouldn't want her dead.

But Arilli wasn't Cinder, and despite what she told herself, she was only doing this for her. Killing Lux wouldn't satisfy Cinder, the universe's desire for karma, or the justice that she strongly believed came to those who deserved it.

She was just doing it to satisfy her sanity.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He held his spear in his hand, staring up at the blue sky blankly. It was cloudless today, and everything was just blue. Forever, more miles, there was only blue. He had never liked the color blue, but for now, he decided it was better than red. Red meant blood; red meant death. And in the Hunger Games, everyone tried their best not to think about death.

He blinked. He couldn't do it. It was inevitable. The games were designed so death was prevalent in every aspect of the arena, even the sky. In a few hours, it too would be stained crimson. There was never a single moment he wasn't thinking about death here.

Tristan was dead. Celeste was dead. Seventeen others whose names he had never learned and never would were also dead.

But more importantly, he was _alive._

He, despite the stacked odds, was still living and breathing. Nothing had broken him, not the careers, not his conflicted ally, and not Tiny, who somehow too, was still alive. He wondered where she was now, and if she'd outlive him.

No, he was going to win. He had to win. He hadn't made it this far to lose.

He found himself thinking about death again. When he blinked he saw Celeste hanging upside down by her foot, screaming and crying for him to save her. But when he took a step toward her, she fell to the ground, limp as a ragdoll. Dead. Everything he touched was dead. Tristan. Celeste. The boy who he had watched during training. Eris. His too kind district partner. All dead.

His lips curved into a frown, and he decided to think about something else. He found his mind drifting to his red bike that was probably still sitting outside his house rusting in the rain. Red, the color of blood, the color of death. He blinked and thought about something else.

He thought about the crown that he'd get at the end of it all if he won. No, when he won. He always won games, whether they were board games, races, or staring contests he played with his friends when there was nothing else to do. His friends always told him he was a sore loser, the few times he didn't win.

But then he found himself thinking about his dead ally, whom he once called a friend. Dead. Dead. Dead. Her face turned red when she laughed, but now, it was only white.

 _It's just a game,_ he told himself. _In another situation, you wouldn't have abandoned her. You're loyal and nothing will change that. You just play to win. If this wasn't a game, you would have saved her._

He had heard the games changed people, but not him. He wasn't changed, and this was just a game. It's just his competitive nature that caused him to leave Celeste. Nothing else. If his life wasn't on the line, he would have cut her down.

 _Victors are the ones that lose the most,_ his mentor told him. _Do you really want to win?_

Yes. He wanted to win more than anything. Raleigh Travers never lost.

 _But what if he already had?_

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She sat in one of the lofty corners of the barn, wrapped in a warm blanket Sereina had given her. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon line, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. She watched them with narrowed eyes as they grew, eventually enveloping the whole room into darkness.

Lux had never imagined the games would involve so much waiting. Watching them on the small, beat-up television in her group home, they had always looked so action-packed. Every time she looked, there was a fight or a death, and blood was everywhere. It surprised her how little blood was here, even if she had been directly responsible for two people's deaths. On the screen, they had always been so exciting to watch. Living them was a different story.

Sereina flicked on a flashlight, illuminating the dim room. Lux lifted her head, watching her now instead of the stretching shadows. She currently was braiding her thick brown hair, staring out the dirt-lined window.

Something about Sereina put her off. She didn't know what it was, but something about her Lux didn't like. The girl was just too nice. All day, she had asked her if she wanted to play games or braid each other's hair or do weird and intimate things as if they were best friends. She had known the girl for a freaking day. A day. She wouldn't let someone else touch her hair if she had known them for her entire life, let alone a day.

Carefully she studied Sereina face, trying to get a read on her. Maybe she was just nice and wanted a friend in her final hours. The finale wasn't far off, Lux knew the Capitol would get bored watching them hide out in barns and wait until they either ran out of water or starved to death. But maybe the girl was playing Lux, just like she was playing her. Maybe her act was being nice so Lux would trust her, and then when the time was right, she'd slit her throat.

That's what Lux would do, at least.

 _After all, how did she get all that mountain of stuff?_ She certainly didn't take it at the bloodbath with the careers guarding the cornucopia like hawks. It must have belonged to someone else, perhaps a former ally whose hair she had also offered to braid.

Lux gulped, watching Sereina continue to weave the strands of her hair together. _Was she getting played right now? Was Lux the first person she ensnared in her trap? Would she be the last? Did she offer to braid someone else's hair before slitting their throat too?_

"Hey, are you alright?" Sereina asked, blinking her eyes sympathetically at Lux.

Shaking her head back and forth, she realized she had probably been staring at little too long. Looking in the window, she noticed her face was drained white with worry, and her breaths were short and shallow like she had just been running.

"I'm fine," she snapped, pulling the blanket against her chest.

Smiling weakly, Sereina went back to braiding her hair. Lux looked back at her reflection in the window, realizing for the second time during these games, she was afraid. Paranoia had set in. Was the player getting played?

"Sereina?" Lux asked, looking back toward her temporary ally, who for all she knew, might not even be her ally at all.

"What's up?" She echoed, still smiling.

"What happened to your allies you were talking about yesterday?" Lux questioned.

Sereina instantly went pale, which sent a shiver down Lux's spine. She killed them. She must have.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," Sereina muttered, averting Lux's curious gaze. To Lux, she looked guilty, as if she had just committed a crime.

"Oh, okay. And I was just wondering w—"

She stopped herself mid-sentence. No, she couldn't ask about where she got all the supplies. Sereina would get suspicious with this many intrusive questions. Lux lowered her head. "Nevermind," she mumbled under her breath.

Sereina's smile seemed to fade a little bit. "Oh, okay. If you need anything just ask, alright?"

"Alright."

"Are you hungry?"

Lux just felt sick to her stomach. "No."

They spent the rest of the night in silence, Sereina reading one of the survival books she had buried in her stash somewhere, and Lux pondering over whether or not Sereina was going to kill her in her sleep. She was; she wasn't; she was; she wasn't. After hours of turmoil, she still couldn't seem to make up her mind.

 _Was it Sereina for real, or was she getting manipulated?_

She couldn't tell.

Lux decided that she preferred to be on the other side of the coin. That way, she was in control. She hated being at the mercy of others, always guessing and anticipating what their next move was going to be. She needed to be the master of her own fate.

Eventually, Sereina flicked off the flashlight and climbed into her sleeping bag. Within minutes she was asleep, her body still and her breaths long and drawn out. Lux tilted her head, watching her ally sleep. Curled in a ball, she looked like a little helpless mouse. Her child-like face appeared as innocent as ever. She looked like she couldn't even hurt a fly. But then again, maybe it was all part of the act.

Standing, the warm blanket slid off of Lux's body and collapsed onto the floor. A chill ran up her spine, but she let the blanket drop.

This game was ending now. She was going to dictate her own fate, not leave her survival up to sheer chance and hope that Sereina was telling the truth. Hope never got her anywhere in life, anyway.

Action did.

Crossing the room, she slipped her hand into her pant pocket and pulled out the knife that Cinder had almost killed her with four nights ago. She was glad she had held onto it for so long, for she knew it would come in handy sooner or later.

Bending down, she silently made her way onto her knees, hovering over Sereina. She still looked innocent as ever, and Lux was half expecting her to wake up right now and ask if she wanted to have her hair braided.

Then, with one fluid motion, Lux lifted the knife into the air and brought it back down to Sereina's throat. However, the knife barely cut through the skin, only resulting in a small cut no bigger than her pinky finger and a light trickle on blood.

Sereina's eyes instantly jolted open, and her body lurched upward. Lux was quick to respond though, dropping her knife and grabbing the pillow from underneath the small girl's head. She held it over Sereina's face while she screeched and struggled to get free. Her arms and legs flailed around wildly, and Lux continued to hold the pillow down over Sereina's mouth and nose mercilessly. If she couldn't stab the girl to death, maybe she could strangle her.

Lux was surprised how weak Sereina was. She wasn't strong to any extent and compared to Sereina, she felt like a buff football player who could lift twice their weight. She felt her lips curve into a sly smile as more time passed and Sereina's body began to slow.

Suddenly, something hard kicked her back, and Lux released her grip on the pillow. Sereina tossed it off of her and gasped desperately for air, looking like a fish out of water. Her eyes widened when she saw Lux's face, and she let out another screech. Lux saw a confused look flash in her eyes before it was replaced by an angry betrayal. _Was she still acting?_

Knowing she had no time to waste, Lux lunged forward and grabbed the pillow, yet Sereina was faster. She instead went for the knife, clinging to it like a pot of gold in her shaking hands. Lux threw the pillow toward her, and it hit her smack in the chest. In her weak state, the force of the pillow caused her to collapse onto the ground, gasping for air again.

Scrambling to her feet, Lux tore towards the small District Three girl. With a hard tug, she yanked the knife out of Sereina's hand and held it in her own. It was coated with a shiny layer of blood that she could see even in the dark.

However, before she could go in for another stab, Sereina kicked at her legs, causing them to buckle beneath her. She fell to the ground, hitting the splintery wood with a loud thump. Moaning in pain, she tried to stand, but Sereina's frail body was already on top of her, grounding her to the earth. She held the pillow over her face, snarling in anger.

Everything went dark, and she let out a terrified scream. Blindly, she stabbed at Sereina, not knowing if she was hitting or missing. She continued to gasp for air that wasn't there, her lungs slowly deflating.

Then, the next thing she knew the knife was no longer in her hand, and sharp twinges of pain were coming from her abdomen. Lux continued to scream, yet no one could hear her. Everything was a blur of black and red, blood and darkness surrounding her. All she felt was terror and searing pain.

Her movements were beginning to slow, and her body was beginning to relax. This was going to be the end, strangled to death by a girl who was barely five feet tall and couldn't even lift a one-pound weight. Lux began to feel warm and at ease as if she was in a bathtub surrounded by bubbling water and lavender aromas. _Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Death seemed peaceful. No more fighting,_ no m _—_

 _No,_ she told herself. _You don't give up, you never have. You are stronger than that. You don't go out easy. You don't let them win._

 _You fight._

With whatever energy she had left, Lux roared and swung her fist into the air, right where she guessed Sereina's stomach would be. Instantly, the pressure from the pillow loosened and Lux rolled onto her side, gasping for air. The pillow slid onto the floor, and a few feet away, Sereina was whimpering like a little puppy dog, clutching her stomach tightly.

The colors began to come back, and with them, Lux's fire for victory. She wobbled to her feet, the bloody pillow in hand. With angry eyes, she glared down at Sereina's weak and curled up body. She had never looked so small and helpless before. Lux didn't feel bad. If anything, it made her feel stronger.

Swinging her foot backward, she thrust it forward and kicked Sereina right in the temple. She whimpered before going silent; her body going limp. Blood was everywhere: the walls, the floor, the pillow, Lux, Sereina. Then, Lux bent down, holding the pillow over the small girl's head. This time, she didn't struggle.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

Eris's blood was still smeared all over his face. He looked like a young child who had just eaten a sicky chocolate bar; yet, the chocolate was red, crusty and smelled like death. It was a treat fitting for the grim reaper.

Alaric reclined the lawn chair that Eris had probably used the day before, watching the stars. He didn't feel bad for killing his former ally at all, and if anything, he had relished in the kill. He was a career after all. Killing people was his job, it was what he had been training to do the past two years of his life.

He sighed, twirling his sword around in boredom. It glinted in the moonlight, reflecting beams of light in multiple directions. However, he knew he wouldn't be bored for long. Five were left, and the finale wasn't far off.

Raleigh. Sereina. Lux. Arilli. Him.

His only real competition was the boy from Six, as it was still a mystery how all the others had gotten this far. Lux was as weak as a mouse and had received a three in training; Scarface always was jumping at whatever noise was around her like she was some neurotic freak; Sereina had built extensive traps but she couldn't hurt a fly. Raleigh was the only one he needed to worry about, as he had gotten away from him twice, and Alaric could tell he was smart and would do anything to survive. After all, he had seen him abandon his ally to live for a few more days. Every time he looked at Raleigh, Alaric was reminded of himself.

Well, Raleigh wasn't as handsome. But still.

In the distance, another cannon boomed. Alaric grinned, cocking his head backward and laughing to himself.

Four more to go, and then, he'd be victorious.

For now, all he had to do was wait. He wondered if Eris had said the same thing the day before he died.

* * *

 ** _A/N: This chapter is basically just everyone trying to justify their actions while Lux and Alaric don't give a crap._ _Well. Not my favorite, but hope you enjoyed still. Finale is soon. Hopefully you are excited for that, because I am._**

 ** _5th Place: Sereina Ampere, District 3 Female. Strangled by Lux._**

 _ **Yeah, we all knew this alliance wasn't going to last long.**_ _ **For me, I went through mood swings of loving you to hating you as a character Sereina, and you were never supposed to take a bad turn but in the end you kind of did, and you went a little off your rocker after Celeste died. I think inside you knew she was telling the truth but you were trying to justify your actions, which made you trust Lux and try to make her like a Celeste/dead sister combo to try to make up for all the people in your life you felt responsible for killing. You and Alaric were the smartest characters in these games, but I think you two are on two different ends of the spectrum, he is very emotionally intelligent while you are very book-smart intelligent. But in the end, like Celeste, it was trusting the wrong people and guilt that did you in, but I had fun experimenting with you and I thought your plot line with Celeste and Raleigh was very fun to write. Thank you POMForever for Sereina, and I hope you enjoyed the path I took with her!**_

 _ **Loners: Alaric, Lux, Raleigh, Arilli**_

 _ **The end is nigh!**_

 _ **paper :)**_


	42. Day 8, Part I: We're All Monsters

_Day 8, Part I: We're All Monsters_

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

All she felt was sheer exhaustion.

Her legs, skinny as they were, felt like weights that could only be moved by a muscled giant. They glided slowly against the coarse earth, dragging behind her as she trudged on. She felt like a prisoner with a hundred-pound medicine ball shackled to her ankle, and she gritted her teeth as she stumbled onward. Her arms lay limp at her sides, and her eyelids drooped like long leaves on a swaying willow tree. Her entire body felt heavy with sleep, but she stayed awake, chasing the impossible mission she had set out to do.

She had to kill Lux. She had to do it.

The golden sun rose silently above the shining horizon line, illuminating the dark earth. Arilli was walking through a small town now with strange fives carved into the buildings and the sidewalks. Long, dark shadows stretched on for what seemed like infinity, enveloping anything in their wake. She wished she could just lay down in one of them and drift off into a painless sleep. However, she couldn't. She had to keep going.

Lux had to be somewhere. The arena was big, but Arilli guessed she had already walked through most of it. She'd been walking for nearly 24 hours now straight. The sun had touched the sky and receded down below the earth in the time she had been on her feet, and then had appeared back again. The girl from Five couldn't be that far away.

Her feet felt like they were going to fall off. Sometime in the night when darkness still enveloped her, she had no longer felt the searing pain with every step she took. She only felt a tingling numbness now, like when she used to burn the tip of her tongue on the herbal tea her mother would make her when she was sick. Maybe tea would soothe her achy body.

But the pain she felt ran deeper than just her bones and sore muscles. It was nestled deep within her, in her pumping heart and wired into her brain. Tea couldn't heal stuff like that. Killing Lux was the only thing she knew could cure that numbness.

She turned and looked directly at the rising sun. When she gazed at it she saw hope, shining and bright. Maybe, in the end, everything would be alright. She would go back to her comfortable life with her uncle and forget about Cinder, Lux, and all the nightmares that she had gathered here in the arena.

But then she looked at her knife resting tightly in her hand, and she saw nothing but doom and destruction. Inside she knew only the knife would solve her problems; hope was for the optimistic. She was anything but idealistic. In order to forget the arena, she'd have to get out first. She'd have to kill.

 _Was it bad that she was looking forward to it?_

They all thought she was a monster when they looked at her, and maybe, they were right.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He walked through the swaying grass he had passed through a thousand times in his dreams, crunching it beneath his thick boots. To the left, the bare tree still stood as still as a statue, indifferent from what it had been a few days prior. Nothing had changed. The ripped net still lay below the fallen branch, skeletons of a trap that once contained prey and the faint memory of a plan that now belonged to a dead girl. He looked at it briefly, letting his eyes glaze over it for a split second before he looked away.

He didn't know the girl was dead. For all he knew, she was still living and breathing, an escapee of two alliances that wouldn't have resulted in anything bad for her. As he walked towards the barn, his feet crunching the green grass, he wondered if the girl was still inside, huddled in a corner like a frightened child. If she was he'd kill her. Her kill her twenty times over but that wouldn't be enough. He was right about her the whole time, she had been a little rat with no loyalties other than to herself. She had turned Celeste too. Now his ally was dead, all because of her.

Tilting his head upward, Raleigh looked at the red barn that towered above him like a giant. So much had happened behind its white crossed sliding doors. He hesitated opening them out of fear that another trap would spring on him and leave him hanging to die, but a part of him was already dead. He opened it recklessly without thinking of the consequences.

To his surprise, no knives came flying at him and no nets came to collect him and leave him hanging eight feet in the air. The door slid open flawlessly, revealing a dark and empty room. He stood outside for a second, letting his eyes adjust to the change in lighting.

However, as his eyes began to adjust, he realized the room wasn't as bare as he had once believed. Lying on the floor was the limp body of his former ally Sereina, a bloody pillow beside her. Her skin was tainted a light purplish hue and her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was contorted into a permanent terrified expression. Blood was everywhere. Holding back a scream, he turned his head to avert his eyes from the scene. Despite his hatred for her, even he didn't want to look at that mess.

After a minute or so, he stepped inside and glanced around, avoiding the bloody patch where Sereina's body lay. The hovercrafts probably weren't able to retrieve it since it was inside a building, and they'd leave her body to rot until the games ended. This only made him sicker.

Looking to where the pile of supplies once was, he only saw crumbs left. A piece of rope, an empty bottle of water, a deflated chip bag. Whoever had killed her had probably taken all the stuff with them, then. Too bad, that was what he came back here for.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and turned around. Out of water, he had to pray that the finale would come sooner rather than later, or he'd end up the same way as Tiny. Dead.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

Gritting her teeth, she continued to move forward despite how much she wanted to stop and give up right now. She couldn't give up; she had made it too far just lay down and die. She needed to keep going. In the distance, she saw a rundown house and decided there would be her next stopping place where she would take a five-minute water break and then keep going.

Right now, her goal was to get as far away from all the other tributes as possible. After killing Sereina, she had decided that the barn was no longer safe for her, so she had taken all the supplies and began to walk in the opposite direction of the shimmering city. Plus, there was no advantage to her being close to tributes anymore. The only tributes left were her, the career, Arilli, and some other boy she had never met, but if he got this far, she didn't want to be anywhere near him. There was no one left for her to manipulate anymore, and she was definitely the weakest tribute left. If she had barely beaten the already injured Sereina, how could she expect to beat a fully trained career or a girl who was fueled by her fire for revenge? There was no way she could win that fight, even if they took pity on her. Arilli most certainly wouldn't, she knew that.

Lux knew her best shot at survival was to grab as many supplies as she could and hide until the games ended. All she could do now was hope that the rest of the tributes starved to death, and she was crowned victor. However, chances of that happening were slim. The Capitol always loved a suspenseful and entertaining finale, and two tributes starving to death wouldn't be what she would call gut-wrenching. It would just give her a few more days at most to live, which is what she needed right now. It would give her time to think of another plan.

Huffing, she yanked the heavy backpack back onto her shoulders. Every so often it slipped off, falling into the dirt covered ground beneath her feet.

"A few more minutes," she told herself, gazing ahead to the shack that was her next stopping point.

Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend like she wasn't in the arena. She was just at home, walking to her bed. In a minute she'd be fast asleep, all the pain gone. She'd feel light as a feather. A few more minutes.

Suddenly, a loud explosion jolted her out of her stupor. Blinking open her eyes, she screamed and saw large pieces of debris flying at her. She ducks, the flaming pieces flying over her head. Ahead, the shack—or what was left of the shack rather—was ablaze, large wooden beams scattered everywhere. Her body began to shake. _What was going on?_

Then, she heard another bang to her left. It deafened her, and she quickly dropped all the supplies on her back and began to sprint the opposite way—back toward the cornucopia. More bangs echoed from behind her, and large round objects began to fall from the clear blue sky. She recognized them to be bombs, and she instantly realized what was happening.

The Capitol had become bored.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He was napping on the folding lawn chair when a loud noise wrenched him awake. He jerked forward, his eyes shooting open in surprise. He was ready for whatever was coming though, bending down and grabbing his sword.

"Who is there?" He called, jumping to his feet. Whipping around in circles, he saw nothing except for empty streets and a lifeless concrete jungle. His loud and commanding voice echoed through the city square, bouncing off walls and coming back to him. It rang in his ears, the only reply to his call. No one was out there.

Suddenly, he heard the loud bang again. This one didn't sound so distant as if the noise were racing toward him like a lightning-face cheetah chasing its dinner. Looking up at the blue sky, he realized it was no longer blue. Rather, it was dotted with small black pods that were dropping down, landing with loud crashing noises on the earth below.

Swearing under his breath, he realized he should have recognized the sound earlier. Anyone in Panem over a certain age could recognize that sound. It was the sound of destruction, of death. He had only heard them once before, back when he was six and the Hunger Games still didn't exist. His father had made them go into the bathroom and had made them stay there until the loud crashing noises were gone. Back then, he was scared. Now, he relished in the deafening noises.

The gamemakers were dropping bombs on the arena.

Normally, the sound of explosions would cause him to go into a state of shock, but this time, he found his lips curving into a gruff smile. All the bombs seemed to be dropping in a circle around the city, ushering the tributes who lingered close to the arena's edges closer. He seemed to be in the perfect place: right in the eye of the storm.

He wouldn't even have to move for the finale. The tributes would come to him if they even made it here.

Taking a step backward, he sat back down in his chair, looking at the black bombs cascading through the sky like water racing down the side of a cliff. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the show. If the Capitol was directing it, he knew it wouldn't be one to miss.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He heard the bombs before he saw them. Loud, they resembled the sound of gunshots, but they magnified ten thousand times so the sheer noise alone deafened his ears. Inside his head, the noise began to ring like church bells, back and forth, back and forth, alerting all around that a funeral was about to take place.

"Shit," Raleigh hissed under his breath, leaping to his feet. Extending his arm, he tightly laced his bony fingers around his spear and sprinted out from under the cover of the barn. His shoes were still coated with a thin layer of dried blood from the barn floor, but he didn't have any time to clean them now. They'd probably stay like that for the rest of the games or at least until he died. He hoped it would be the former.

Tilting his head upward, he stared wide-eyed at the sky. It was covered in small black dots falling down from the heavens like meteors. All around the grassy field they were dropping, hitting the ground with loud bangs and sending burnt blades of grass and large chunks of dirt flying in all directions.

Quickly, his eyes darted around in search of a safe zone. He knew there had to be somewhere in the arena where the game makers weren't dropping the bombs. It wouldn't be a good show if they all were just blown into a million pieces. The Capitol wanted to see children slaughtering each other, and what they wanted, Raleigh knew they always got.

He saw that the sky over the city was clear. That was where he needed to go if he wanted to be safe, at least for a little while. Who knew what the city would bring once he was running through its long streets and weaving between its towering buildings.

Then, something exploded behind him. Raleigh screamed and was launched forward, tumbling across the scorched grass. A piece of wooden debris hit his back with a loud thud before flying off in another direction. He moaned, his body continuing to roll until it came to a stop in a small ditch created by another bomb.

Scrambling to his feet, Raleigh saw that his body was littered with red scrapes and brown bruises. Another sound deafened his ears, a cracking of wood, and explosion. Behind him, the barn was aflame, debris everywhere. He swore, gripping his sword tighter. Then, he began to run.

He felt like he was in the middle of a war zone. Bombs were falling all around him, blowing grass and trees to pieces. Swiftly, he maneuvered his way in between the ditches and pieces of debris, continuing to run. His left ankle that had been impaled by Sereina's knife throbbed slightly. Yet, he ignored it, continuing to head to the city as fast as he possibly could. Only there would he be able to rest.

Having watched various Hunger Games in years prior, Raleigh knew that this was the finale. A gesture this grand and destructive usually didn't happen until the very end. That way it was more climatic for the viewers and would keep them hooked right until the last battle. Plus, there were only four left, and the arena was big. The odds of them running into each other were slim unless someone were to bring them together. Or something.

A few feet away, another bomb collided with the hard earth, exploding everything in its path. Raleigh was thrown to the side, his skin scraping against the rocky ground. However, he stood up and continued to run. Nothing was going to stop him from winning, not even a full out war.

"Bring it on," he grinned, managing to chuckle a little. However, despite his aura of confidence, he couldn't ignore the butterflies that were beginning to flutter in his stomach.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

The city was in the distance, flickering with a million blinking lights. Tall buildings stretched high until they touched the fluffy white clouds above. Even from far away, it looked like a blissful utopia where everything was perfect. Well, compared to where she was now, anything would look like heaven.

Another bomb exploded behind her, sending mounds of dirt flying into the air. They hit her back, staining her already dirtied shirt brown with filth. Stumbling forward, she caught her balance and continued to run, not daring to look back. If she did, there might not be anything there. It would just be an endless wasteland of debris and craters.

She was close now. The individual bulbs of the streetlights were beginning to come into focus, and the city was beginning to look more vibrant than ever. Around her, the sky was beginning to turn a bloody scarlet, indicating the sun was setting. Continuing to run, she looked up at the sky. _Hadn't the sun just rose a few hours ago?_

It was possible, but then again, no one really had a concept of time in the arena. There were no clocks to tell the tributes the hour, so one just had to estimate the position of the sun in the sky. When it was at its highest point it was noon, and when one couldn't see it anymore it was night. She hated that she couldn't control the time and plan wisely. She always liked to know everything so she could use it to her advantage, and even the time could be manipulated so it worked in her favor if she tried hard enough. However, in the arena, only the gamemakers could control the time. It was a way of demonstrating their power over the tributes and that they were the ones in charge. Lux hated not being in charge.

Huffing, she was beginning to slow. Her feet weren't moving as fast and the pain in her chest was tightening. Her wounds from her fight from Sereina were beginning to break open and bleed again, mixing with the dirt from the bombs. It felt like she was being stabbed again and again. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back the pain and used it to motive herself to run faster.

Finally, she reached the city. The minute the soles of her shoes found the hard yet smooth pavement, she stopped to catch her breath. She took a few deep breaths and turned to watch the bombs continue to fall on the arena around her. For now, she was safe. No bombs would blow her up here, and the only thing that could hurt her was another tribute. She had no weapons or supplies, but as long as she hid from them she'd be safe.

Turning around, Lux lifted her shirt and swiped her finger along one of the gashes that had opened back up on her torso. Sticky red blood coated her finger, shimmering in the setting sun and bright lights that flooded down from a street lamp above her head. She cocked her head back, looking away. It'd be fine, she wouldn't be doing much fighting anyway. For now, she was safe. The wounds would have time to heal once she found an ample hiding place.

Lowering her shirt, she lifted her head and looked ahead at the empty street in front of her. However, it wasn't empty. Standing a few feet away was the last person she ever wanted to see again, a smug smile plastered on her scarred face.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

"Arilli," Lux hissed, straightening her spine to look taller. Even at her full height, Lux was a short girl. Arilli wasn't tall by any measure, but compared to her, Lux was a midget. Even as she held her chin up proudly to the sky that seemed to be crumbling into a million pieces, she still looked as small as a mouse. After all, she was a small person. Her appearance should only reflect that.

"Lux," Arilli growled back, meeting her eyes. She had never looked Lux in the eye before, but right now, she relished it. She could tell that Lux's strong and unwavering gaze was just a mask she was wearing to hide her fears. She didn't want to give Arilli the satisfaction that she was afraid of what she could do with the knife in her hand.

"Well, are you going to just stand there and gawk or come and fight me?" Lux asked, crossing her arms over chest. She smiled slyly as if she had something to be confident about. The bravery was a façade, no doubt about it. Arilli knew that without her minions, the queen was nothing. She was as helpless as an infant.

Arilli narrowed her light eyes. "I didn't think you'd be so eager. I thought you'd be running like the coward you are," she spat.

Shrugging, the girl from Five took a step forward. "I thought I'd turn over a new leaf today," she quipped.

Arilli held back a laugh. That was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. The reason Lux wasn't running was because there was nowhere to go. Arilli was blocking her only path to safety.

"Yeah," Lux continued. "I'm doing this thing where I face my problems head-on, not shy away from them. I bet you know a thing about that, don't you? You must have gotten that scar from somewhere, right? Was it your daddy who hit you? Did you try to hide from him?"

Gripping her knife tighter, Arilli clenched her fist. "Shut up."

"Or was it someone else? Was it a bully?"

Arilli growled. "The only bully I've ever met in my life is you. And my scar is from an accident," she snarled defensively.

The girl across from her shrugged her shoulders, smirking slyly. "Some accident. It looks pretty deliberate to me."

"Shut up!" Arilli roared. She was clenching her knife so hard that the skin on her palm was beginning to break, a drizzle of blood trickling from her hand.

She flashed Arilli a toothy grin. "Make me," Lux challenged, spreading her feet so that she was grounded to the earth. She looked Arilli directly in the eyes, daring her to come closer.

Arilli didn't need to be told twice. With a triumphant yell, she charged forward, her knife angled right toward Lux's heart. She had no intentions of being merciful. She was going to kill her, and she was going to make it hurt.

* * *

 _Lux Ward, 14, District 5 Female._

She had never been more frightened in her life than when Arilli, nostrils flaring, began to charge at her with a silver knife in her hand. Yet, she couldn't let her opponent know that. She might not be able to win this fight, but she couldn't give her enemy the satisfaction of knowing her fear. If she kept up the brave act, she wouldn't lose entirely. Her dignity would still be intact.

Roaring, Arilli swiped at Lux's throat, yet in her anger, she gave away her move too soon. Lux saw it coming from a mile away and was able to duck out of the way in time. Arilli swung her knife over her head, hitting nothing but air. She spat in frustration as Lux punched her side weakly.

Staggering backward, Arilli hissed and caught her balance. Weaponless, Lux had no other move then to defend herself. She waited until Arilli charged at her again, trying to read her body language as she flew toward her. However, this time she was too slow, and Arilli swiped at her upper chest with her knife. Lux screamed and fell to her knees. Crimson blood began to ooze out of her gash just below her collarbone.

"Feel that?" Arilli snarled, her eyes blazing with anger and rage.

"Nope," Lux retorted, though the pain coming from her chest burned like a thousand suns. She had to be strong though. The weak didn't survive.

Before she could stand up, Arilli slashed her knife at Lux again. This time, it cut her cheek, more blood pouring out. Lux wailed.

"How about now?" The District Twelve girl jeered.

"Still nothing," Lux hissed through her clenched teeth. Then, as Arilli was preparing to strike again, she grabbed her leg and tried to pull her onto the ground with her. To her surprise, Arilli was caught off guard. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she thudded onto the pavement. Her knife skidded out of her hand and flew a few feet to their right.

Time seemed to stop. Both girls looked at the knife like it was a golden crown, their eyes shimmering with desire. Arilli was first to move, quickly staggering to her knees. She began to crawl across the ground, scurrying like a mouse to the crumb of cheese. Lux growled. She wasn't going to let the spoiled blonde girl get away with this.

Wheezing, Lux thurst her arm toward Arilli and grabbed her long blonde hair. Then, she yanked her backward with a forceful tug. Arilli howled, jolting away from the knife and falling onto her back. In the distance, the bombs continued to fall like rain in the middle of a storm.

"Let go of me, you bitch!" Arilli screeched, trying to stand. However, Lux continued to tug on her hair, dragging her across the pavement. Arilli's back scratched against it, and if the bombs weren't so loud, Lux would have thought it sounded like she was grating cheese.

When Arilli was far enough away from the knife, Lux tugged one last time before letting go of her golden locks. Arilli screamed, thrashing everywhere. Then, Lux stood to her feet and made a mad dash for the knife. She ran like a wild animal, but before she could get anywhere, Arilli grabbed her ankle. Lux tripped and fell right onto her face, her hands not having time to break her fall. Her nose cracked as it collided with the pavement, more blood pooling out like water.

She whimpered and brought her hands to her side. With a grunt, she tried to push herself up. However, she was too weak and fell back to the ground in defeat. A few feet away, she heard Arilli chuckle.

Get up. With all the energy she had left in her, she pushed hard against the ground. Her body rose slowly, and she climbed to her knees. Then, she saw Arilli's foot fly right toward her and the next thing she knew she was sailing through the air, screaming and crying. She struck the ground with a loud cracking noise and began to whimper like a sick puppy again.

Everything was beginning to feel fuzzy. When she opened her mouth the breathe, she just tasted the bitter taste of blood. Her body ached with a million pains, and she closed her eyes.

"Do you feel it now?" Arilli quipped, her shadow looming over her like a helicopter. She cracked open her eyes weakly, staring up at Arilli with blazing eyes. There were two of her now. _She couldn't let her win. She couldn't._

"No?" Arilli asked, her face flushed red with anger. Then, she stabbed the knife into her stomach. Lux moaned and tried to pick herself up, but her body felt like it was glued to the ground.

"Do you feel it now?"

Lux shook her head, spitting at Arilli's face. "No," she retorted defiantly.

Arilli growled in anger. She stabbed her again, and Lux let out another moan.

"I still can't feel anything," Lux told her.

"Stop lying to me," Arilli fumed. "You're weak. You're done. You're dying. What more do gain from pretending like you're immune to my knife?"

Lux managed to smile weakly. "Everything," she breathed. If she was going to die, at least she could enjoy seeing Arilli become frustrated and angry in her last minutes. Then, an idea came to mind. Although Cinder had abandoned her, Arilli didn't know that. For all she knew, Cinder had still died her slave.

"You know what?" Arilli growled, holding her knife over Lux's throat. Her hand was shaking feverishly, and her nostrils were flaring like a dragon. "I've always been envious of girls like you. You're pretty. You're smart. You have it all. When people look at you, they want to be your friend. Cinder wanted to be your friend when he looked at you. But you know what he saw when he looked at me?"

"I killed him," Lux grinned.

Arilli ignored her, continuing on. "He saw a monster. When people look at my face, they think I'm a monster. They don't want to be my friend. Kids cry when they look at me. Mothers tell them to look away, and they say that I'm just some weird freak."

"I killed him," Lux repeated, her smile growing.

Growling, Arilli inched her knife closer. "I hide in my room all day because I'm scared of what the world thinks. I don't want to be a monster."

"I killed him."

Arilli screamed, her knife now grazing Lux's skin. "SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME YOU BITCH! You didn't kill him, you liar! I did! I killed him! Is that what you want to hear? I killed him! I killed Cinder! He's dead because of me! But I'm not the monster! I'm not! I was always jealous of girls like you, but now I see that you're the monster! You made him like that! You made him distrust me! And you still lie just to make me mad! You are the monster, you manipulative psycho! If it wasn't for you, he'd still be alive!"

Lux began to laugh, and although it hurt like hell, she couldn't stop herself. _Arilli killed Cinder! How ironic was that? She killed him!_

"Stop it! Stop laughing!" Arilli was screaming, silver tears welling from her eyes. She looked like a crazy person, her hair everywhere, her wide eyes bloodshot. "You're the monster, not me!" She screeched. "You're the monster! He's dead because of you! You're the monster!"

And then she began stabbing wildly at Lux's heart, but Lux didn't stop laughing. Blood spurted out of her mouth with every thrust Arilli made, but she didn't care. The world was beginning to turn red, and then, it was crimson. She kept laughing.

"You're the monster! You killed him!" Arilli screeched, not believing own words. Lux kept laughing. "I'm not a monster, it was you! It was all you!"

Finally, it was just black. She already knew she was a monster, but then again, maybe the game made monsters out of them all.

Even after Lux's cannon went off, Arilli continued to stab and stab relentlessly.

"I'm not the monster! You are! You are! Monster! Monster!"

* * *

 ** _A/N: The finale is upon us! Three are left, who do you want to see make it out alive?_**

 _ **This battle was looonnnggg overdue. I hope you all enjoyed it. Despite the good vs. evil vibes that I'm sure I wasn't the only one who got from these two characters, I actually found them to have a ton of similarities, like more then most other characters. Fun fact, Arilli was submitted for Lux's spot, but I moved her to Twelve. Imagine how different the story would have been if they were switched!**_

 _ **Raleigh and Alaric will see more action next time, though I don't necessarily know if that's a good thing ;)**_

 _ **4th: Lux Ward, District 5 Female. Stabbed by Arilli.**_

 _ **Lux, you were a very compelling villain. Although I liked you and personally thought you were a pretty awesome character, the point of villains is so the readers can have someone to root against, which is why your dead. I didn't want someone no one liked winning. Don't get me wrong though, you were a great character and I loved your strength and ability to really come back from anything. But in the end, you got what you deserved, and I'm satisfied with your death and I hope others will be too. You wrecked havoc on the tributes for too long. Abrielle, Nerida, Jaxs, Cinder, Sereina, Arilli, you know, the list goes on. Thank you for Lux dreamsofghostsandstars, and although I don't think you ever really read, Lux was a great tribute.**_

 ** _Also, I think I should explain the bombs. They are supposed to represent the rebellion, as this arena resembles Panem in someways, so that was my choice on that. And how the Capitol can destroy the districts in a flash. It's a subtle show of power._**

 ** _The last chapter of the games is next! Get hyped!_**

 ** _Paper :)_**


	43. Day 8, Part II: It's Lights Out

_Day 8, Part II: It's Lights Out_

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

The cameras could no longer see the scar on her face because it was covered it so much blood. She continued to stab at Lux's bloody body, not caring that she was already long dead and could no longer feel the pain. It made her feel good. Every time her knife cut into Lux's dead flesh, she felt a little more relieved. Lux was the one who looked like the monster now, not her. She wasn't the monster. Lux was. Lux was the monster.

"Monster, monster, monster," she huffed, no longer able to scream it into the wind. She was running out of energy, and her stabs were less frequent and no longer as forceful. They had turned to hits and then had faded to weak movements. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion. _She had done it. She had killed the monster._

Gasping for air, she collapsed onto her knees. She dropped the knife onto Lux's no longer recognizable body and closed her eyes, listening to her hoarse breathing. Although she couldn't realize it, she was sobbing controllably too, tears rolling down her red cheeks. Her once wide eyes were crusted and bloodshot, dull with exhaustion. It all felt like a dream. Maybe it was.

Standing, blood slid off of her clothes, dripping to the already crimson-stained pavement. Her body still shook like an earthquake, feverish and violent. She took a deep breath in. Then she breathed out.

"You're the monster," she spat at Lux's dead body, continuing to cry. "It's you. Just look at you. I can't even tell your human anymore. You're hideous. Compared to you, I look like a saint."

Lux just stared back up at her, her lips still curved into a sly smile. Her glazed and lifeless eyes stared right into her soul, sending a chill down her spine.

 _You think I'm the monster? I wasn't the one who killed him. That was you! All you!_

"Stop it!" Arilli screamed. "I'm not the monster! It's you!"

She could still hear Lux's laugh ringing in her ears, over and over again.

 _Only a monster pretends that they aren't one._

"Stop it! Stop it!" She screeched, cupping her bloodied hands over her ears. However, the laugh didn't vanish. It only grew louder until she couldn't even hear the bombs exploding in the distance.

 _It's you. I didn't need to bring it out. The monster has been inside of you forever._

"No! Stop it! You're the monster, not me! You made me like this!"

 _No,_ Lux replied, continuing to smile that same sly smile. _You made yourself like this._

Then, she bent down and snatched her knife off of Lux's bloody torso. With a strong thrust, she stabbed the knife right into one of Lux's chilling blue eyes, causing more red blood to pour out.

"I'm not the monster! It's you!"

 _Cinder would be ashamed of you. You think this is what he wanted? He wanted you to brutally decapitate me like the monster you are?_

"No! I'm doing this for Cinder! You ruined him! I'm just making it right!"

Then, she did the same with the other eye, stabbing it again and again until she could see nothing but red. After she was done, the voices left her head and all she could hear was the exploding of bombs and the crumbling of buildings that were beginning to fall to the earth.

Taking one last look at Lux, she tried to smile. However, she couldn't. She just turned and ran, never wanting to look back at the monster Lux had forced her to become.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He knew that the Hunger Games were a game of waiting; one didn't become a victor overnight. The games were won over a course of days, weeks, and sometimes even months or years. In some cases, it took a lifetime to prime a tribute to become a victor.

His whole life had led up to this moment. He could wait a few hours longer.

The bombs continued to fall as steadily as snow in a blizzard, and on the outskirts of the city, the buildings were beginning to crumble. Day had turned to a scarlet dusk, the sky shimmering with oranges, pinks, reds and purples. Alaric watched and waited, knowing that in time, the tributes would flock to him like chicks to the mother hen.

The streetlights flickered on the outside of the city square. He stood right below the towering statue of President Heron with a sharp taloned hawk fastened onto her arm. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the places where the narrow streets ran into the open square. To his dismay, there were no movements or signs of life from any of them. His opponents were probably hiding in the shadows, waiting like him. They'd have to emerge eventually.

More time passed. The sky turned from orange, to red, to purple, then finally to a deep black. The streetlights continued to flicker like fireflies in the night, dancing through the dark. He sighed, his legs beginning to twitch with anxiety. However, he quickly calmed himself. The best things came to those who waited. If he waited, he would win.

The bombs continued to fall. He wondered if multiple cannons had gone off and he just wasn't able to hear them over the loud explosions. _How many were left? Four? Three? Was there only one other out there?_

Suddenly, he felt something sharp enter his back. He howled, twisting around to face a short girl with mangled and knotted golden hair. Or, hair that had once been golden. Currently, it was coated in a thick layer of dried blood that had turned dark red with time. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her face red and covered with more blood. On the left there was a faint outline of a scar, yet under all the red it was barely visible. She snarled and flared her nostrils, looking like an angry wolf. If he hadn't known better, she would have though the girl had come straight from the filming of a horror movie.

Arching his arm over his shoulder, he grabbed the knife and pulled it out of his back with a forceful tug. The girl's eyes instantly widened, and she began to slink back warily, her body trembling in fear.

Alaric chuckled. "I'll give that an A for effort, Twelve. That was pretty ballsy."

With a forceful thrust, he snapped the pathetic knife against his muscled thigh. It broke into two, clattering to the hard pavement. The girl let out a frightened squeak, continuing to back away slowly. She didn't look as scary anymore. The line between monster and terrified kid began to blur until Alaric couldn't distinguish one from the other. They were essentially the same.

Then, she turned and ran.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

From the shadows of the buildings he watched as the muscled boy from Two snapped Arilli's knife in half with just his hands. Raleigh's eyes widened, but he didn't have much time to wonder if Alaric could do that to his neck too, because he knew that this was his chance. If he didn't want to end up like that knife, he'd have to act now.

Inhaling deeply, Raleigh gripped his lone spear tightly in his hand. He had one shot at this, and if he missed, he'd be stuck playing a game of cat and mouse that could cost him his life. However, he wasn't one to shy away from risks. He knew the greatest gambles possessed the best payoffs.

He ran out from his hiding place and into the open square. Alaric didn't see him quite yet, still infatuated with Arilli. He continued to chase her around the square, slashing his sword at her body. Every time, she narrowly dodged his blow, a second quicker then him. He knew it'd only be a matter of time before her endurance began to run out and the seconds turned to half-seconds, then to milliseconds, then to nothing. When that time came, the game of catch would be over and both their times would be up. That's why he needed to act now.

Raleigh began to run toward the pair, spear in hand. He had never before practiced on a moving target, but at home he had often played a game with his best friend similar to it. One person would ride the bike down the street while the other would throw a ball at the one riding the bike and try to knock him to the ground. He found himself smiling thinking about his reckless and worriless days back in Six with his best friend Arial. If he got back, maybe he'd be able to have more of them. Hopefully he'd be able to translate his skills at that game to throwing a spear. However, throwing old tennis balls wasn't exactly the same thing as killing another person.

He watched as Arilli leaped over a wooden bench, once again narrowly dodging Alaric's sword. Alaric grunted in frustration, ramming into the bench with a loud yowl. He hissed, pushing it to the ground and starting after Arilli again.

Now, Arilli had spotted Raleigh and began to wave at him wildly, trying to catch his attention.

"Six! Six!" She yelped, continuing to run. She was beginning to run out of steam, and Alaric had caught up to her again. He swiped his sword in her direction but once again missed by a mere inch.

"What do you want?" Raleigh yelled back, continuing to run toward her and Alaric. Alaric glared in his direction, giving him an angry gaze that told him he was next. Raleigh felt a shiver run down his spine but didn't back away. He picked up his pace, his spear still tightly gripped in his hand.

"Team?" She hollered, ducking as Alaric swung his sword at where her head once was. He missed yet again, slicing off a few stray hairs.

"Yes!"

Alaric growled, taking another swipe at Arilli and missing again entirely. She ducked in between the legs of the statue, and the Two boy's sword hit the statue's metal frame, making a loud clanging noise. Alaric hissed again, his sword vibrating from hitting the hard metal.

Raleigh was close now, almost within striking range of Alaric. He held the spear up just above his shoulder, preparing to launch it at any second.

"I'll still win!" Alaric hissed, rounding the statue and catching up to Arilli once again. However, instead of swiping at her he lunged at her, throwing his body into the air. This took her by surprise and she stopped abruptly, turning around and screeching madly.

Alaric's body collided with her's and sent them both flying to the ground. She yelped as he tackled her and pinned her onto the stone-grey pavement, holding the sword over her neck.

"Raleigh! Raleigh! Raleigh!" She was screeching like a maniac, thrashing her arms and legs around like a trapped animal. However, she was no match for Alaric, who easily held her down with little effort. He was almost twice her size, and in her current state, looked to be a lot stronger too.

Raleigh stopped dead in his tracks, his feet screeching to a halt. Alaric was a good twenty feet away, hunched over Arilli with the knife held to her throat. She was still screaming and crying, calling his name as if he were her savior. However, only one could win. If he saved her right now, he'd kill her in another second.

He held the spear parallel to his head in the throwing positions. Glaring at Alaric, he saw that the boy was looking back at him, studying his body with interest, trying to predict what he was going to do next.

"Don't move," he ordered.

* * *

 _Arilli Carr, 15, District 12 Female._

When Raleigh spoke, the entire world seemed to freeze.

She stopped screaming and struggling, letting her eyes shift to Raleigh. She never thought he'd try to save her. They had never spoken before this moment, and if their positions were swapped she would have just let him die.

Alaric lifted his sword from her throat, his cold gaze moving from her to Raleigh who stood a few yards away. He let his jaw hang open in awe, gawking at the scrawny boy with shaking limbs. Arilli blinked, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Since when do you get to order me around?" Alaric asked.

Raleigh gulped. "Since—since now. I'm the one with the spear, not you."

Shaking, Arilli continued to watch him with wide eyes. She said nothing, knowing that in this situation, it was better to remain silent.

"Then throw it," Alaric challenged.

Raleigh shook his head vehemently. "Let the girl go."

"I don't think so, Six."

"I said let the girl go, or I'll throw the spear!" The boy from Six roared, trying to act powerful and confident. However, even in her delusional state she could tell that he was just as afraid as her.

"Throw the spear then!"

Raleigh didn't move an inch.

Arilli held her breath, her eyes flicking from the boy to the career pinning her to the ground. If Raleigh wasn't going to save her, she'd need to save herself. While he was still distracted, she tried to inch backward to escape his grasp. Yet, he felt her move beneath him and lowered his sword back to her neck, pressing down lightly on her skin. She let out a frightened yelp, her eyes widening in terror once more. She was helpless once more.

"Are you afraid?" Alaric jeered, pressing the sword down harder on her neck. She wailed, red blood beginning to trickle down her skin and onto the hard pavement beneath her body.

"No," Raleigh hissed, puffing out his chest. "I'm the one with the weapon."

"Actually, I think I'm the one with the weapon," Alaric chuckled, pressing down on Arilli's neck harder. She screamed, trying to raise her hands to pry the sword off of herself, yet didn't yet very far. The career on top of her kept her arms pinned to the ground. They felt like they had been nailed to the earth.

Raleigh's eyes widened when he heard Arilli scream in pain. Everything was beginning to grow fuzzy, and she began to struggle. However, she had no energy. She struggled for a minute then let her limbs go limp onto the ground, defeated. She was done. There was nothing more for her to live for. Cinder was dead, Lux was dead. There was a two-hundred-pound trained career on top of her. _What was the point of continuing to fight a battle that she couldn't win?_

"Wait!" Raleigh yelped, lifting the spear again and preparing to throw it.

Alaric chuckled, pressing down harder. Everything was beginning to fade, and the vibrant colors began to seem diluted and grey. Her body was going numb with pain.

"You can save her," Alaric tempted. "Just throw the spear."

"No."

Arilli rolled her head over, glancing weakly at Raleigh with a longing gaze. _Help me,_ it cried. He lifted his spear a little higher, his eyes shimmering with regret. He looked conflicted. Arilli didn't care. She just wanted it to be over, one way or another. He could save her, or Alaric could kill her. All she wanted was for the pain to end.

"You couldn't save Celeste. You were a coward. But you can save her. All you have to do is throw the spear."

Raleigh's eyes widened even further.

"Throw the spear," Alaric whispered hypnotically, as if he were a hunter luring his prey into a trap. "If she dies, it's your fault. Just like Celeste's death was your fault. It was all your fault."

Everything was beginning to tingle with warmth. Arilli smiled, wiggling her toes and fingers. It was as if she were in a bath. She laughed, her frightened gaze softening. Then, she watched as Raleigh launched the spear into the air. It sailed towards her and Alaric, flying inches over his head like a soaring bird.

Alaric smirked, pressing the sword down harder.

Arilli always thought monsters lived in the dark, but here, there were no monsters. There was only black. A painless, lifeless black.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

"Well," Alaric laughed, "that was the absolute stupidest thing you could have done."

Arilli's cannon sounded, and he yanked his bloody sword out of her flesh. He stood to his feet, standing as a barricade between the frightened boy from Six and the only thing that could save him: his spear. Too bad he had taken the bait and thrown it impulsively. If he hadn't, maybe the fight would have been a good one. Or, at least it would have been fairer.

Raleigh's jaw dropped as he realized the magnitude of his actions. Now, he didn't only have an ally, but he was weaponless too.

Alaric grinned like a mad man, turning around and picking up the spear.

"Here," he said, turning toward Raleigh. "I want this to be a fair fight."

A look of relief seemed to settle onto the District Six Boy's face, and his lips curved into a slight smile. "R—really?" He stuttered in disbelief.

"Yeah," Alaric replied, raising the spear into the air as if he were going to hand it to him. It took everything inside him to hold back a grin. _A fair fight? Really? Who did Raleigh think he was, Eris?_

Raleigh took a step forward, yet before he could get any closer Alaric slammed the spear down onto the hard pavement. It splintered into two pieces, making a cracking noise as it hit the ground. Raleigh squeaked in surprise and leaped backward.

"Ha, if only you could see your face!" Alaric exclaimed, breaking into a fit of laughter as Raleigh stared at the broken spear sadly like it was a dead child. "I'm not an idiot! I know that if I give you back your spear you have a higher chance of winning! How gullible are you? Only losers fight fair!"

Raleigh gulped, sweat beginning to run down his face.

Alaric stepped forward, the blood on his sword glimmering in the dancing city lights. He smirked. "And don't think I'll be letting you get away from me again. Third time's a charm."

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He had never run faster in his life.

Around him, the bombs continued to fall, inching closer and closer to the cornucopia. Night had fallen and the city lights blinked on. On the outskirts of the sparkling city, tall buildings began to crumble to the ground. There were loud crashes everywhere, but he didn't care. Right now, he just needed to lose Alaric.

The career was fast on his trail, slashing his sword in the air where Raleigh had been a second ago. Although he was fast and normally knew that he would be able to outrun almost anyone, right now wasn't a normal circumstance. For one, the person who was chasing him was a highly trained career with years of learning how to kill people under his belt. He was in peak athletic shape, and while he wasn't necessarily faster than Raleigh, Alaric could probably run forever. Secondly, Raleigh's left ankle pulsed with pain. Although it had seemed like a lifetime ago, four days prior Sereina had stabbed him in the ankle while she was trying to get away. His wound had heeled for the most part, but still wasn't completely fine. It slowed him down slightly, and soon he knew it would begin to bother him so much so that he'd probably have to stop. He knew the only way to escape Alaric was to lose him. That meant doing something risky, something dangerous.

It meant he was going to run toward the bombs and crumbling buildings.

 _Was that a stupid idea?_ Yes. _Was it going to get him killed?_ Probably.

 _But what other choice did he have?_ He wasn't going to stay here and let Alaric maul him to death, that was for sure.

He at least needed to try. If he didn't try, then he had already resigned himself to sure death.

Rounding the statue of President Heron, he locked his eyes on the entrance to an alleyway that connected to the main city square. It was shrouded in a long shadow and was dark for the most part. Maybe he could lose Alaric in the dark.

He kept running, ignoring the pain searing from his ankle. It burned like a fire, but he couldn't focus on that now. He propelled forward, focusing solely on his legs and his pumping arms. He told himself that as long as he got to the street, he'd be safe.

He'd be safe. He'd be safe.

He just had to be.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he watched as the scrawny boy from Six disappeared into the dark alleyway ahead of him.

 _What the hell was he doing?_

Alaric continued to run after him, sprinting right into the dark street. This street was one of the few in the city not illuminated. Here, it was harder to see the boy as he ran, yet the lights streaming in from the other streets aided him slightly. Raleigh's faint silhouette kept running, always a few feet ahead of him. In the distance, buildings were crumbling.

Raleigh rounded a corner, and Alaric followed after him.

"Where are you going?" Alaric called.

"Why would I tell you?" Raleigh huffed back, almost breathless. Alaric smiled, the boy unknowingly giving him the information he wanted. His breathy reaction had told him that although Raleigh had a fast pace now, he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. Soon, he'd slow down and Alaric would easily catch up to him and slice him to bits. For now, all he needed to do was make sure he didn't lose him in the dark.

Then, as if the gamemakers had read his thoughts, all the lights on the street flickered on. Raleigh swore under his breath, continuing to run at a quickened pace. Alaric smiled, wondering if someone had just paid a lot of money to get rid of his opponent's advantage. He was probably the favorite in the Capitol; they always loved the careers who put on a bloody and entertaining show for them. Alaric guessed he had not disappointed, and the Captiolcraved more blood and more gore. Once he caught his prey, he'd give it to them. He'd make Raleigh pay for having him work.

Raleigh rounded another corner, and for a second, Alaric lost sight of him. He stopped dead in his tracks, peering down the street where Raleigh had just turned. There was no sign of him. Above his head, the buildings began to creak but he ignored them. The Capitol wanted a show; they wouldn't want something anticlimactic to happen, which included Alaric getting crushed and flattened to a crisp. They wanted a final battle, and they'd do anything to get it, including defying the laws of gravity.

Turning around, Alaric saw no sign of the boy from Six. He ran down the street and continued to look, but it seemed as if he had lost his target. The streets were empty, and somewhere, Raleigh was probably smiling smugly, happy that his plan had worked.

However, he couldn't hide forever. Alaric knew that. Sometime, he'd have to come out. When he did, Alaric would be waiting, his jaws wide open and ready to snap.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

Raleigh couldn't hold back a smile as he ran, overjoyed that his plan had worked. Even with the lights on, he had managed to ditch Alaric. He fist bumped into the air, doing a little celebratory dance. For now, he was safe. However, he continued to run, wanting to put as much distance between himself and Alaric as possible without getting blown to a million bits by a bomb.

When he was a good enough distance away, he rounded a corner into a shadowy dead end where the darkness hid him decently well. He leaned against a building, tearing off his shoe. Picking up his foot, he lifted it so he could get a better look at his ankle. It was red and swollen, pulsing with pain. He winced as he placed his fingers onto it and applied a light amount of pressure. It hurt like hell.

He put his shoe back on and looked up into the jet-black sky. He needed to find a weapon. However, even if he could find his way back to the cornucopia without being caught by Alaric, it was probably already empty. The only weapons left was Alaric's sword and his broken spear, which was useless. The only thing he could possibly salvage would be the blade, _but what would that do in comparison to Alaric's sword?_

Sighing, he had no ideas. However, he wasn't going to give up yet. There had to be a weapon somewhere, or something he could make that could be used as one.

Picking a rock off the ground, he held it in his hand an examined it. He had a good arm, maybe he could throw this and possibly do some damage to Alaric head. However, he'd have to catch him by surprise. He knew that would be hard. But he'd done it before, and he knew nothing was impossible. The rock would have to do.

Then, as if his prayers had been answered, something white appeared in the black sky. His eyes widened, instantly recognizing what it was. It was sponsor gift. Someone had sent him a sponsor gift.

He breathed in a giant sigh of relief, dropping the rock to the ground and snagging the white parachute out of the air. Attached to it was another spear with a note. He quickly took it off and opened it.

 _To even the odds. —B_

Raleigh laughed nervously, holding the spear in his hands as if it was his prized possession. He didn't want to think about how much it had costed his mentor and what Buick had to do to get the money.

But now the odds were even. The fight was going to be fair, and when Alaric found Raleigh the next time, he'd be the one who was going to be surprised.

Raleigh was going to win.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

Sword raised, he stalked the city streets in search of Raleigh. The boy couldn't have gotten that far, and there was only a limited space for him to run around in. The city was getting smaller with each passing second, more buildings crumbling to the ground and more bombs falling and exploding what was once the arena. They were mice trapped in a maze, free to go wherever they wanted so long they stay within the confines of the walls. And right now, the maze wasn't that big. There was nowhere for Raleigh to go except right into his sword.

However, after hours of looking, Alaric couldn't find the boy from Six anywhere. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, evaporated into nothingness. Passing a lamppost he swore he had already seen three times that day, he threw his sword onto the ground in frustration.

"Where are you?" Alaric roared, his voice fading into the crashes of concrete and brick as the buildings continued to fall. No one replied as expected.

Alaric had waited long enough. It had been hours of searching and days of occupying himself as he waited for tributes to come to him. His patience was running thin. He wanted this to be over. _How could Raleigh have outsmarted him?_ He was supposed to be the one outsmarting other tributes, not the other way around.

Then, a high-pitched beeping noise rang through his ears. Tilting his head upward, he watched as a white parachute fluttered down from the night sky like an angel falling from heaven. His lips curved into a smile, and he wondered what the package it was carrying would contain.

He didn't have to wait for long, and the package landed in his arms within seconds. He tore it open and plucked its contents out. Inside was a silver compass with a spinning arrow the color of freshly drawn blood. He watched as it spun around in circles, finally stabilizing. The arrow pointed to his right.

On the bottom of the compass a small note was attached. He squinted his eyes, reading it slowly.

 _Use to locate the nearest tribute._

It had no name. It must have come from another wealthy Capitolite. He grinned, picking his sword up and following the arrow as it winded through the city streets. Around him, buildings continued to crumble and bombs continued to fall. None fell near him. It was as if he was an untouchable god, invincible almost.

After walking for a few minutes, the compass pointed straight ahead at a dead end. He squinted his eyes, trying to look for a figure in the shadowy street. From what he could see, there was none. The street was empty.

He growled, hitting his compass vehemently. It must have been broken. However, the arrow didn't falter, continuing to point down the street at the dead end. Upon closer look, he realized that the shadows weren't as empty as he had previously believed. In them, a figure twitched.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

He watched with wide eyes as Alaric stared in his direction. Trying to remain as still as possible, he held his breath and clutched his spear tightly. The shadows would hopefully conceal him from Alaric's view. Then, after Alaric decided that there was nothing here, he'd turn and leave. That's when Raleigh would pounce.

However, Alaric didn't turn away. He stood at the intersection of two streets, holding a small silver object in his hand. Raleigh couldn't see what it was from far away, but something told him it wasn't good.

"I found you," the career chorused, staring right into his frightened eyes. "Hide and seek is over kid. I won."

Raleigh gulped, clutching his spear tighter. He didn't move though, wondering if Alaric hadn't seen him and was just trying to test if he was actually there. But he knew that Alaric had seen him. He wouldn't have looked right into his eyes if he hadn't. Wishful thinking would do him no good right now.

Alaric took a step forward, rolling his grey eyes. "Come out. There's nowhere left to run."

Tensing, Raleigh shoved the spear behind his back and cautiously took a step into the light. He raised his chin into the air and looked Alaric right in the eyes, trying to appear brave. However, it didn't work very well. His body shook with fright and his eyes were as wide as a deer in headlights.

A look of shock passed over the career's face when he saw Raleigh's badly hidden weapon sticking out from behind his back. "You got a spear?"

"Yeah," Raleigh replied. "You scared?"

Alaric shook his head back and forth quickly, a sly smile growing on his face. "Anything but."

Raleigh wished he could be that confident. "W—well you should be," he stuttered, trying to mimic the career's large ego. If he faked it, maybe he could pretend that he had some too.

Alaric burst into laughter. "Scared of you? Your aim is terrible. You know what? Maybe I'll let you take a free shot at me. You won't come anywhere near me anyway."

"Yes I would!" Raleigh protested.

"Then show me," Alaric challenged, bending down and placing his sword onto the pavement. Above them, the buildings continued to tremble, moments away from collapsing. Raleigh felt a shiver go down his spine and looked back to Alaric who was standing in the middle of the street, his arms stretched out to make it easier to hit him.

"It's a trick," Raleigh replied, shaking his head back and forth. "You're going to move."

"I won't. I promise."

Raleigh shook his head back and forth mutely, knowing that this was a bad idea. Alaric had already tricked him today, and he had said that he didn't fight fair. He probably just wanted to lure Raleigh in so he'd lose and spear and once again be completely helpless to whatever Alaric had planned. _But what if it wasn't a trick? What if Alaric really was overconfident?_

He needed to take that chance.

With one deep breath, he raised his spear into the air and launched it at the career.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He was in disbelief as the spear twirled toward his face. The boy hadn't only fallen for his trick once, but he had fallen for the same exact one _again._ _Twice._

Maybe in District Six they didn't teach common sense, because this boy was the dumbest person he'd ever met. Alaric could see in his eyes that he knew that throwing the spear was a stupid idea, but something—a strange force or weird voice in his head—was compelling him to do it anyway. Or maybe he was just straight stupid. Either one was plausible at this point.

Leaping out of the way, Alaric grabbed the spear out of midair. Before the boy had a chance to react, Alaric thrust it back in his direction. It his torso with a silent whoosh. The force of it sent him flying backward, back into the dark shadows.

He howled in pain, clutching the spot where the spear had entered his flesh. Staggering forward, he clenched his teeth together and tried to pull it out, but it was already too far inside him. Blood began to pour out like a waterfall, gushing onto the ground in front of him.

Bending downward, Alaric grabbed his shiny sword off the ground and began to march toward Raleigh, his shiny teeth glittering in the bright street lights. Soon, he'd have a crown that glinted even brighter. All he had to do was deliver one last blow to finish the dumb boy off. With one more flick of his sword, he'd be the victor.

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, 16, District 6 Male._

Alaric began to close in on him, sword in hand. Raleigh knew this was the end, he was going to die here. However, it wasn't over until it was over. He wasn't going to give up until his heart stopped, even if his brain already told him he was burnt toast.

Gritting his teeth, he let out a determined howl and tried to yank the spear out of his side. To his dismay, it didn't even budge. Alaric took another step. He yanked harder, the spear moving less than an inch. It was still lodged inside him. Blood continued to spurt out, relentless. He yanked again.

Alaric was a few feet away from him now, smiling wider then a sly crocodile. He slashed his sword in the air, taunting him. Raleigh knew it be cutting through more than air in a few seconds. Tugging one final time, the spear only moved slightly, causing more pain than anything else. It wasn't going anywhere. He growled, looking up at the career with determined eyes. He only had a few seconds more and couldn't waste it trying to get the spear dislodged from his side. He needed to find something else that would save him.

His eyes darted around the shadowy street. Even if he could run, there was nowhere to go. Alaric was blocking his only path out. Around him, there bright street lights flickered and tall buildings with crumbling walls stood Maybe he could hide in one of those. He tried to stand, but couldn't, the spearhead sending a shooting pain through his entire body. Alaric grew closer.

Then, his eyes rested on a rock the size of his fist lying beside him. He picked it up and laced his fingers around it. Looking up at Alaric, he saw that the career was laughing now.

"You think that's going to do anything?" Alaric chided. "A little rock?"

Raleigh's eyes drifted to the streetlights dangling above his head, then back down to the rock in his hand, then straight ahead to Alaric. He had an idea, but there was only a fraction of a chance that it would work. It would be better to throw the rock at Alaric and hope that it hit him in the head. Maybe that'd kill him. It'd have a better chance of wounding him then his other idea. His other plan was just plain stupid and would probably just make himself look like more of a fool before he died.

 _However, did he ever do the smart thing?_

Hell no.

Taking all the energy he had left, he launched the small stone into the air and prayed that unlike all the other idiotic things he did in the games, this one would work.

* * *

 _Alaric Pyre, 18, District 2 Male._

He didn't know what was happening until it was too late.

He just expected Raleigh to throw the stone at him and hope that it broke a bone or two. Maybe it would delay his death, as right now, there was no way he was going to make it out alive weaponless and injured. By throwing the stone, he could have bought himself a few more minutes of life and maybe a chance to say goodbye to those he loved back home while he slowly bled out.

However, after all the senseless things Raleigh did, it was stupid of him to think he would do the reasonable thing.

When Alaric was only a foot or so away from Raleigh, the boy had thrown the rock. Not at him, but at something above him. Cocking his head upward, Alaric found the rock just in time to watch it collide with the streetlight. The glass surrounding the light shattered and the bulb cracked before everything came crashing down.

First it was the light. The glass broke and the bulb exploded, causing all the wires to give way and come flying toward the earth. Sparks flew everywhere, creating a brilliant display of flashing lights and fire before his eyes. They looked like fireworks. All the other dangling lights followed suit, cracking and sparking with light as they collided with the pavement. Alaric hissed, turning away from the wounded Raleigh. He'd die soon enough from bloodless anyway, Alaric just needed to get out of here and save his own skin.

Sprinting toward the end of the street, the wires continued to fall. Behind him Raleigh was screaming like a madman, shrieking and crying out in pain.

He only got a few steps though before one of the wires fell onto him. He slashed angrily at it with his sword, not thinking clearly. Everything around him had turned to chaos, a bright, sparkling chaos. Pieces of debris from the buildings were beginning to tumble to the ground, hitting the earth with loud crashes.

Yet, in his confusion, he had not realized slashing the wire was a mistake. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. He didn't even think of the consequences until it was too late. Electricity ran up his sword and into his arm. His nerves tingled and jolted to life. He began to scream in pain, his entire body going into shock. The sensation flooded through his body, running up his arm, into his torso, and down into his legs. All his muscles began to cramp up and he collapsed onto the ground, sparks everywhere.

Then, everything flashed white.

Raleigh screamed at the top of his lungs, and the last thing Alaric saw before his world turned to black was the disintegrating buildings tumbling toward where he and Raleigh lay, the Capitol helpless to stop the destruction as gravity propelled them toward the earth and prepared to bury both of them under feet of rubble.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Yeah, you probably all hate me now. Cliffhangers suck but I kind of suck too, so... yeah.**_

 _ **No eulogies this time. I don't want to give anything away :)**_

 ** _Next chapter will get things fixed up, and for the first time in this entire story, I feel like I don't really have much to say in the A/N. I guess I just hope you all enjoyed the story up until now, and trust me, it will only be getting more chaotic from here. Hehe._**

 ** _paper :)_**


	44. Aftermath: The Price We Pay

_Aftermath: The Price We Pay_

* * *

 _The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games._

Everything was black, until one moment, it wasn't.

The world was so bright when he first cracked open his eyes that he thought he had woken up in heaven. Everywhere around him was white: white walls, white floors, blinding white lights. White silhouettes hung over him like fluffy clouds, whispering words to each other he can't yet make out. They just sound like gibberish, slurs in a language unknown to his tongue.

His eyes began to slowly adjust, revealing others shapes and colors that weren't just white. He half expected the figures to have long feathery wings, yet they did not. They turned out to be doctors with blue masks strapped over their mouths and shiny metallic tools in their hands. They poked at his body, prodding at his immaculately clean skin and bruises he didn't remember previously having.

 _Where was he?_

Then, five bony figures slapped him square across the face and he remembered everything.

"What the hell were you thinking? His mentor shouted, pushing the swarm of doctors aside violently. His face is contorted into a strange frown, and his eyes conveyed a twinge of worry in fear behind their brown lens.

"Did I win?" Raleigh croaked, ignoring his mentor's question.

His mentor didn't answer him, lifting his arm to smack him clear across the face again. However, before he could go for it, one of the doctors held his arm back, restraining him from doing any more harm.

"Sir, it is unwise for you to do that," the doctor ordered. "The patient is still in critical condition."

Buick growled, forcefully shoving the doctor to the side so he could look Raleigh square in the eye. They shone with a mix of anger, worry, and fear. Raleigh glared back at him, wanting an answer. However, he already knew it. He wasn't in the arena and he wasn't dead so there was only one option. He just wanted to hear someone else say it so he could believe this wasn't a dream.

"You have no idea what you did," Buick spat, not averting his gaze from Raleigh for a second. He looked like he wanted to kill him, to strangle him right then and there. Raleigh felt a chill go down his spine, but he ignored it, putting on a façade of dumb bravery.

He snorted, his lips curving into a sly smile. "Actually, I do. I won."

Ripping himself free of the doctor's grip, Buick slapped him across the face again. His head jolted backward until it hit the headrest with a muffled thud. A large red mark appeared on his face in the shape of his mentor's hand.

"Sir!" One of the doctor's yelped, quickly scrambling toward him and pulling his arms back behind his back. Then, they began to drag him backward, away from Raleigh and his hospital bed.

"That's not what I'm talking about, you dumb boy. Your little 'stunt' is going to get us all killed, you know that? You, me, your family, everyone you care about is going to die!" Buick roared angrily, his nostrils flaring.

"Well then how else was I supposed to win?" Raleigh questioned, folding his arms over his chest. "How did you expect me to beat a career without a weapon?"

Buick rolled his eyes, trying to wrestle free of the doctor's grip. He couldn't, growling at them instead. "Alaric was right there!" He exclaimed. "You should have thrown the goddamn rock at his skull!"

"And what if I missed? Or what if it hit and didn't do anything? Then what?" Raleigh asked, furrowing his eyebrows angrily. _He won, his mentor should be proud. Why was he so angry?_

"You pick up another rock and try again," he growled. "Don't do something stupid like throw it at a goddamn light."

"Well you told me to do something stupid!" Raleigh howled, throwing his arms up into the air. "Am I not supposed to listen to my mentor?" His IV unplugged, but he let it go, caught up in his rage. With a swift motion, he tried to punch forward at Buick's face. However, his mentor was still too far away and he was still far too weak. One of the doctors quickly scrambled to his aid, picking it back up off the floor and hooking it back onto him.

"Settle down, alright," the doctor instructed calmly, easing his head back onto his pillow. He grunted, leaning back and placing his head down again. He took a deep breath, staring back at Buick with narrowed and angry eyes.

His mentor was shaking his head back and forth in disappointment, now free of the doctor's grip. "Stupid things are called stupid things for a reason, Raleigh."

"Then don't tell me to do them," he growled, closing his eyes in frustration. He had worked so hard for this moment, and he had thought winning would be sweeter. All he felt right now was empty.

HIs mentor sighed, inhaling deeply. He had seemed to calm down a bit, and his nostrils were no longer flaring like he was a fire-breathing dragon. "You don't know what happened, do you?"

"It's not like I've been conscious," Raleigh retorted sarcastically. "How long have I been out anyway, a few hours?"

His mentor raised a brown in amusement. "Try a few days. Three. We thought you were dead."

Raleigh blinked in surprise, his jaw hanging open like he was a dumbfounded kid.

"Well, you did die for a few minutes," Buick explained. "The electricity caused your heart to stop. Thankfully we were able to get to you in time, before—you know—you were gone forever."

"I—I died?" Raleigh stuttered.

Buick didn't smile. "You want the short story, or the long one?"

"Long," Raleigh muttered, still stunned. "Tell me everything."

Taking a deep breath in, his mentor opened his mouth to speak. "Where do I even begin? Well, after you threw the rock at the lamppost, the wires collapsed and electrocuted both of you. Your heart stopped, and so did Alaric's. The Capitol was just going to secretly shock both of you back to life and pretend like none of it ever happened, but before they could do anything all the power went out in your section of the arena. They could no longer control the buildings from collapsing, and nature took its course. The rubble buried Alaric alive. Thankfully, you were a bit farther away so it didn't flatten you like a pancake. That's why you are here and not him."

Raleigh blinked. "Well then why is the Capitol so pissed?"

"It makes them look weak. You—your 'stunt'—made them look like fools. The arena isn't supposed to be used like that, and since both of you technically died, it makes it look like an act of defiance against them. They thought you wanted no one to win, and they thought by making you both die, you were trying to show the Capitol that you are stronger than their game."

His eyes widened. "But—I didn't! I wanted to win more than anything!"

Buick huffed. "Yeah, but no one cares what you want or thought. It's what everyone else thinks that matters. People are beginning to rebel again, Raleigh. You don't understand the magnitude of this. You, and what you did—it's inspiring other people to do the same."

"But I didn't do anything!" He protested. "I was just trying to win, not defy the Capitol!"

Buick didn't respond, blinking at him blankly. "There was a protest in District Five yesterday," he responded in a monotoned voice. "They cut wires at the powerplant and tried to electrocute a bunch of peacekeepers. Ten died. Tell me that's not anything."

"But—"

"They see you as their leader, Raleigh. You're a symbol they can get behind. You're he boy who tried to make it so no one won the Hunger Games. In their eyes, you are a valiant martyr."

Tears began to well in Raleigh eyes now, shimmering in the white room. "I—I never wanted this. I just want to go home and see my family."

His mentor smirked. "That's the first lesson of being a victor, kid. You never, ever, get what you want."

* * *

It was two days later, and he had fully recovered or at least enough to be presentable to the entire nation of Panem on national television. On the left wing of the stage, a flock of stylists surrounded him, tightening his tie and powdering pink blush onto his face. One of them handed him a mirror, and when he looked into it, he decided he looked like a clown. Only, he wasn't laughing.

For the crowning, they dressed him in a slick black suit with a red tie and a rose in his chest pocket. His face was coated in layers upon layers of heavy makeup, so much that when he blushed, he couldn't even see a difference. His hair was slicked back with grease and his scars were hidden beneath his clothes, but there was one that they left visible. It was right above his right eye, and not even makeup could cover it. It bulged out of his forehead, unwilling to blend in with the rest of him. It's a rebel of sorts, just like him.

His mentor came pushing through the crowd of people, growling. Grabbing Raleigh's hand, he pulled him to the side.

"I need him for a quick second," Buick declared without asking for permission. "You're done with him anyway, I don't think he needs a twelfth coat of makeup."

Smirking, Raleigh tore himself away from the crowd of stylists, following Buick through the throng of people until they were in somewhat of a remote location. Some people called after him, but none followed.

"Thanks for that," Raleigh chortled, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "I already look like a clown, I can't imagine what I'd look like if they had fifteen more minutes."

Buick didn't look amused, his face as serious as ever. "Don't thank me yet kid." He muttered. "We still have the interview to do. The worst is yet to come."

Raleigh nodded. "So, what do I need to say?"

"You need to play up being a reckless kid, and say that you don't think about things before you do them," his mentor instructed. "Just act stupid, like an adrenaline junkie. Say you didn't have a plan going into the games, you were just playing it by year, doing whatever you felt like at the moment."

"But I had a plan—" Raleigh protested, yet Buick cut him off.

"Then lie."

"I don't like lying though."

"Lie or the people you love die," Buick replied bitterly. "It's your choice."

Snorting, Raleigh turned away and crossed his arms. "I see we have a poet here."

Grabbing his wrist, Buick pulled him back. "This is serious," he growled, glaring at him with an angry gaze. "My family is on the line here too. This is bigger than you. You can't be selfish. You already killed a bunch of people and compared to that, lying looks like you are doing the world a good deed."

"True," Raleigh said, yanking his arm away. He was trying to be brave, for Celeste, Tristan, his family, his friends, Arilli, and himself. But acting was different then actually feeling it, and right now, he just felt like a scared little child.

He held back tears as they ushered him onto the stage and faked a smile when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry. No one ever told him the hardest part of the games would be after the killing was over, but really, he knew the killing had just begun.

* * *

Out the window, everything was one messy blur of greens, browns, and blues. He had requested to be alone, at least for this part of the train ride. He didn't want to see Buick now anyway. All he talked about when Raleigh was around anyway was how Raleigh had to watch his tongue around certain people and that if he even looked at someone the wrong way, everyone he loved could die in the blink of an eye. All of that was exactly what he didn't want to hear right now. It was getting him down. He had just won the Hunger Games after all, so he should be celebrating, not worrying. That was all Buick ever did anyway: worry.

There was another protest in Eight last night, after his interview. A group of rebels set fire to a part of the textile factory, and although no one was killed, a massive amount of damage was done. They claimed it was in the name of him. There was a rumor going around that people in the districts were beginning to call him spark boy. He wished they could just call him Raleigh. Maybe if they did he wouldn't feel so afraid.

He thought his interview would quell any rebellious thoughts or intentions that the people of Panem had. On stage in front of millions of people, he had proclaimed his loyalty to the capitol and condemned his actions. He was just a dumb boy. He was doing it for the thrill. He liked causing mayhem and had no idea of the consequences it would bring. He loved the Capitol and thought their games were the most amazing thing ever and was so glad he won.

 _Why couldn't that have been enough?_

The train continued to soar toward Six at an astounding rate, and Raleigh began to feel better the further away he got from the Capitol. The person he was in the arena wasn't going to follow him home, and the things he did in the arena would stay there too. He wasn't a killer, and he wasn't a monster. In time, the Capitol would forget about what he did. He'd no longer be a rebel leader, and he'd go back to being a normal kid. He'd ride his bike with his best friend after school and fool around with girls. In time, everything would be as it should. Everything would revert back to what it was before the games.

Only later, he'd realize how naïve he was to believe such an impossible thing would happen.

* * *

The train skidded to a stop. He tore his eyes away from the window, watching as his mentor entered the train cart.

Buick opened his mouth to speak, but before he got a chance to, Raleigh cut him off.

"What? Are you going to tell me to watch my back? That the Capitol is watching here too?"

His mentor shook his head back and forth. "No, I was just going ask you if you were ready to see your family again."

Raleigh felt the ends up his lips curve into a smile, and he nodded his head rapidly. His mentor dipped his head and turned to exit the cart. Raleigh followed close behind, his body beginning to tremor with excitement.

Outside, he could hear people cheering.

"Is that for me?" Raleigh asked.

"Who else would it be for? The person who cleans the bathroom?" His mentor replied sarcastically, stopping and turning to face him. To their left, the door to the train still was shut, ready for his command to open it.

Raleigh turned, looking toward the train door. On the other side stood his family, his friends, and everyone he had ever loved. Despite looking forward to this moment the entire duration of the games, he felt himself dreading it now.

"What if they don't want to see me?" Raleigh asked, looking at his mentor with wide eyes.

Buick huffed in frustration. "You really are a stupid kid, huh?"

Raleigh laughed nervously. "I guess."

Then, Buick stepped forward and opened the door, bright sunlight streaming in. For a moment, he couldn't see anything except for light—the rays of sun blinding him. Suddenly, he felt himself enveloped in a warm hug, his mother crying tears of joy.

"My baby!" She cried, hugging him tightly.

Normally, if his mother did that in public, he'd flush red with embarrassment. But now he didn't even seem fazed by it. Unexpectedly, he found himself crying too, silver tears running down his cheeks. It had been a long time since he cried.

"I was so worried," she whispered, continuing to bawl. "I—I didn't think you would come home."

Raleigh pulled himself out of his mother's arms, allowing himself to laugh. "Really mom? You didn't have any faith in me?"

She shook her head back and forth, still crying. "No, I did. I always knew you'd be back. I was just worried. It's a mother's job to worry, after all."

She hugged him again, and this time, Raleigh hoped she'd never let go.

* * *

They stood in front of their big house in the Victor's Village, looking up at the shiny windows and tall walls with wide eyes. Raleigh was still in disbelief that he had won and all this was his now. His mother and father seemed to be equally as shocked, still wondering if this house was really theirs.

His father handed him the shiny golden key, smiling weakly.

"Here, son. You should be the one to do the honors."

He nodded his head, walking up to the white wooden door. For a minute, he just stared at its surface, running his fingers along the wood. He wondered if it cut had been from the forests of District Seven where Tristan and Celeste lived. Or rather, once lived.

He shook his head back and forth, trying to get the thought of them out of his mind. The games were over. He was moving on. He was done thinking about the dead, and what happened in the arena. He was just going to be a normal teenager again.

"Well?" His father asked, standing behind him. "Are you ready?"

"When I am not?" He replied jokingly, cracking a smile like he used to before the games begun.

Raleigh inserted the key into the lock and twisted it around. Once he heard it click, he jerked it out and pushed open the door. Then, he took a step inside, inhaling deeply. It smelled like fresh pine needles and chopped wood. Celeste smelled that way when he first met her.

 _Stop._

He realized he had been standing there in silence for a bit too long when his mother came over a gentle tapped him on the shoulder. "Raleigh?"

He jolted back to life. "Yeah. I'm fine, mom. I'm fine."

She smiled and handed him another set of keys. These ones were silver. "There's another surprise waiting for you in the garage," she chortled, her smiling growing bigger.

A car! Raleigh's face lit up, and for the first time in a while, he found himself completely forgetting about the games. He flipped around and sprinted out the door, pressing a button to open the large garage. It slowly opened, revealing a sleek red sports car with a large glass windshield and black leather seats.

"Is this all for me?" He gawked in disbelief, running up to it and running his scarred hand along it's smooth red coat of paint.

His father nodded excitedly.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" He began to shriek excitedly. "Arial will be so jealous! I'm going to be the coolest kid in all of District Six! This is amazing!"

* * *

Later that day he sat in the driver's seat of the car, his best friend Arial right beside him.

"Dude, this is so cool," Arial exclaimed in astonishment, rubbing his palm across the smooth leather seat. "Does it have good horsepower?

"Yep! 700 to be exact," Raleigh replied, beaming with excitement. He couldn't wait to take this car out for a joyride. "It's the newest model that they're making in the Capitol. I think it's called a racehorse."

"I want a car so bad. They look so cool in all those magazines from the Capitol! Maybe I should win the games too," he joked, laughing loudly. Raleigh found himself frowning.

"Oh, sorry man. I didn't mean it like that. You know I wouldn't volunteer for the games."

"It's fine," Raleigh replied quickly, turning away from his friend and placing his hands on the steering wheel. Then there was silence, and Arial looked away.

"How about we test it out?" Arial said, interrupting the awkward break in the conversation. "I want to see how fast this baby can really go."

Raleigh nodded his head vehemently, flipping the ignition switch and turning the car on. It roared to life, energy coursing through it. Raleigh felt a tingle go up his arm but ignored it. He switched the gear into reverse and slowly began to back out of the long driveway, Arial bouncing up and down in his seat excitedly beside him.

Then, he shifted it into drive and put his foot down on the pedal and they were off, racing through the warm evening air. For the first time since the games had begun, he felt truly free, inebriated by the whipping wind and the roaring of the engine.

* * *

It was late at night when he heard the phone ring.

 _Riiiinnng. Riiiinnnng._ It chorused from his nightstand. He continued to lay in his bed, not wanting to move. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, tracing the small crevasses on the ceiling with his eyes. He couldn't fall asleep that night. It must had been two in the morning.

The phone stopped ringing, and silence ensued. He continued to trace the lines on the ceiling, trying to bore himself to sleep. Nothing was working. He felt exhaustion droop through his body, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't let his mind slip off into an unconscious state.

Before the games begun, he had always had such an easy time falling asleep. For the past few nights, he hadn't slept a total of more than three hours.

The phone rang again, and this time, he had no choice whether to answer it or not. He rolled over in his bed, extending his arm and lacing his fingers around the top of the phone. Picking it up, held it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Raleigh," his mentor's voice answered. Raleigh slumped back down onto his bed, growling lowly.

"Why are you calling me at two in the morning Buick?" He asked in annoyance. "Go to bed."

"This is urgent Raleigh," his mentor replied. "I thought you should know before you find out a different way."

"What you do mean?" He asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

His mentor didn't answer, the only sound the static buzzing of the phone. Then, after a minute, he spoke again.

"There was another riot in Eight an hour ago."

"So?"

"So? So you should be concerned," Buick responded harshly, his tone sharp as knives.

"I'm back in Six. I didn't do anything."

"You didn't _directly_ do anything," his mentor corrected. "Some protesters claimed it was in the name of Spark Boy."

"Ick," Raleigh responded, scrunching his nose. "Is that what they're calling me now?"

"Who knows," Buick replied. "The only thing that I know is that these protests aren't going to stop until something is done. I just wanted to call you to tell you to watch out."

"Why?" He asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"Just watch out," Buick said, ignoring his question.

"Nothing will happen," he asserted confidently. "They won't hurt a victor, right? They never have before. You're fine. They never did anything to you."

His mentor inhaled deeply on the other side of the line.

"Sometimes I wish they did."

Then he hung up, and Raleigh was left to listen to the constant static of the phone in the dark of his room, wondering what the hell Buick meant.

* * *

The next morning, he sat on the expansive island in his kitchen as his mother cooked eggs on a silver frying pan.

"You want some toast?" She asked him.

He nodded his head slowly, too tired to respond vocally. Unlike the last few nights, he hadn't even slept for a second. His plush and comfortable bed had felt like a rock, and his mind hadn't stopped working all night, especially after Buick's phone call. It had been racing with thoughts and worries, never ceasing to let him rest.

His mother moved across the kitchen and swung open one of the wooden cabinets, taking out a wrapped loaf of sliced white bread. She untwisted the tie and opened the bag, taking a piece from the middle. She knew Raleigh liked those the best. Then, she walked over to the toaster and slipped the sliced piece in. Raleigh watched her with a sleepy gaze, his eyelids drooping.

Suddenly, everything began to spark and the toaster was steaming. Raleigh's mother quickly reached for the plug to pull it out. However, in the process of pulling it out, it shocked her. She let out a scream and jolted into the air before falling to the ground, limp as a ragdoll.

Raleigh screeched, pushing his chair back with a violent shove and running over to his mother. The toaster had stopped smoking and sparking, and she lay on the ground with her eyes wide open. They were unmoving. Raleigh screamed louder.

"Mom! Mom!" He howled, grabbing her shoulders and trying to shake her awake. Her face maintained its same shocked expression, and her eyes failed to blink back to life. Footsteps ran down the stairs, and Raleigh continued to scream.

"Wake up mom! Wake up! Wake up!"

His dad was behind him now, his eyes wide with surprise. Raleigh shook her harder and harder, but she stayed sleeping. Her heart was no longer beating, the constant thumping absent.

His father touched his shoulder and tried to pull him back, away from the dead body of his mother. However, he didn't want to go, continuing to shake her harder and harder until her body trembled like an earthquake.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

"Son," his father mumbled, yet his voice was drowned out by Raleigh's terrified screams. Silver tears ran from his eyes, staining his skin wet with salt.

The door swung open and Buick ran inside. "What's goi—"

He stopped when he saw Raleigh hunched over his mother, still trying to shake her awake. The young boy was screaming like a maniac, bawling uncontrollably. His dad was now trying to pry him away, but Raleigh still wouldn't budge, clinging to the dead body of his mother like it was his prized possession.

With wide eyes, he looked up at Buick and realized that he finally understood what Buick had meant on the phone the night before.

* * *

Arial came to his door that day after hearing the news.

Swinging the wooden door open, Raleigh's cheeks were still stained wet with salty tears.

"I heard about your mother," his best friend murmured. "I'm sorry."

Raleigh lifted his head and looked at his best friend bitterly. "I'm sorry too," he hissed.

"You shouldn't have had to go through that after winning the games. You had already been through enough."

Raleigh blinked, thinking of all those he could have saved in the games. Celeste was dead. Tristan was dead. Arilli was dead. Now his mother was dead too, laying in a bright room at the hospital in District Six while they prepared her for her funeral in a few days. He couldn't save anyone.

 _Who would be next?_

The victor didn't reply, looking down at his shuffling feet. He began to cry again.

"Hey," Arial interrupted, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. "You want to go for another ride in your car? It'll be fun. Maybe it'll get your mind off all this."

Raleigh shook his head no, still not looking his best friend in the eyes. "No, not today," he muttered quietly.

"Alright," his friend replied, smiling weakly. He took his hand off Raleigh's shoulder and stepped back onto the wooden steps. "Maybe tomorrow then?"

"Maybe."

Then he closed the door.

* * *

Arial came back the next day.

"You ready to have some fun?" He asked, his eyes glittering with hope.

"Maybe tomorrow," Raleigh replied, closing the door again.

He couldn't see anyone else get hurt because of his stupid actions.

And even if he tried, he couldn't save them anyway.

* * *

 ** _A/N: This is going to be a long AN. I just can tell._**

 _ **First, I'm starting my sequel to Crimson! Yay! It's called Blackened, and I'll be posting the prologue later today. Please submit if you liked this story! I know It'll be great! The form and guidelines are on my profile, if you were wondering.**_

 ** _Now back to the story. This isn't the end. One/Two more chapters after this. It will end on a better note, don't worry. I like happy endings, or at least somewhat happy endings._**

 _ **I hope you like how it all panned out though. In my head, Panem is rebellious for the first 10-15 years after the first rebellion, and find anything they can to rebel. After a while it will die down of course, but for now tensions are still high and Raleigh's win just made everything bubble over. Yet, Im trying to make this story as close to cannon as possible and it will die down soon enough once the games become more ingrained in everyone's lives. For now, they are still new.**_

 ** _Now for the Eulogies:_**

 ** _3rd Place: Arilli Carr, District 12 Female. Throat Slit by Alaric._**

 ** _Arilli was a great character, and her arc with Lux, Cinder, and Jaxs was really fun to write. She had a simple form but I liked building off that and making her my own, and honestly I did consider her for victor, but I thought at that point she'd be in too bad of a mental state and took weak to win. But she was great, and I enjoyed having her. Thank you to I believe in nargles too, the story wouldn't have been the same without her. She'll be happy in heaven with Cinder now :)_**

 ** _2nd Place: Alaric Pyre, District 2 Male. Electrocuted then Crushed by Rubble._**

 ** _Alaric, you were amazing. You always seemed to the be the comic relief in very serious scenes, and I never failed to enjoy writing one of your POVs. You were fantastic in every way, and you made me laugh all the time. I loved brainstorming things you were going to do and say, and you were just an amazing and unique tribute who slowly grew on me as I wrote you. The reason you didn't win was because I didn't know where to take you after the games, and I feel like I can do more with Raleigh to set up more future scenes and plot lines. But you are still my favorite forever. Thank you GalacticCoach for Alaric, he was wonderful._**

 ** _Winner: Raleigh Travers, District 6 Male._**

 ** _Raleigh, what can I say? You were my winner for a long time, since probably October or even September. Hell, you were always in my mind for the spot ever since I started the story. You may have faded into the background at first, but I always loved your willingness to take chances and do whatever it takes, even if it meant leaving your friends, enslaving an innocent girl, and possibly getting yourself killed. You were the perfect mix of stupid and smart to get you to the end. I loved your journey through the games, and I thought you really deserved to win despite Alaric being the stronger competitor. I feel kind of bad for giving you this downward spiral of events, but I promise you won't get a terribly awful ending. It will just be a little awful. Everyone's actions catch up to them, and Raleigh had this coming for a long time in my mind whether he won or lost. No one gets out of the Hunger Games unscathed. However, I still love you and you will always be my winner at heart, no matter how this story turns out!_** ** _Fun fact, you were also the last tribute I received! So thank you so much to Indium2000, and congrats on receiving a Victor. You earned it! I promise it won't end too badly for him._**

 ** _Next chapter is the victory tour and then the epilogue! Then it's over! I can barely believe it! See you all then!_**

 ** _paper :)_**


	45. Epilogue: Even the Worst Scars Fade

_Epilogue: Even the Worst Scars Fade_

* * *

 _Raleigh Travers, Victor of the 10th Hunger Games._

Somedays he wondered if it would have been better if he died.

He watched the rain outside his kitchen window with glazed and cloudy eyes, his face emotionless. Inside he was hurting more than anyone can imagine, but he was done crying. He had done enough of it. The pain he felt wasn't sharp like his spear he used in the arena; it was numbing and endless instead, a slow death that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. The pain he felt was a thousand times worse than any knife, sword, or spear. This pain couldn't be healed.

Upstairs, his father sat in his workshop and tinkered with car parts. Raleigh didn't talk to him much anymore. These days, he didn't talk much at all. Most of the time, he lay motionless in a dark room and thought deeply about absolutely nothing.

Arial had stopped visiting, and so had anyone else he had been remotely close with before the games. They all came at first, but one by one Raleigh pushed them away, telling them to come back tomorrow and maybe he'd see them. However, he knew that tomorrow would never come. Tomorrow became next week, next week turned into next month, and soon the knocks at the door ceased. His visitors had realized that tomorrow really meant never.

The rain continued to patter outside. Raleigh sighed and looked at the clock plastered on the wall across the room. It ticked 8:46 AM. In two hours or so, Buick would arrive at his door and they'd be off on Raleigh's victory tour, soaring toward One on a lightning fast bullet train.

It had been six months since his games had ended. Six long months. Each second had felt like a minute, each minute like an hour, each hour like a day, and each day like a lifetime. It was hard to imagine his life before the games now. It seemed so distant. All he could really remember was that he was always happy and smiling then. He was never happy now.

Every day he thought of his mother and all those he had failed to save in the games. Tristan, the always smiling boy who didn't have a mean bone in his body. Celeste, the girl who learned to be confident in herself. Arilli, the tribute he had known for just a little time, but who he had failed to save as well.

And himself, the victor of the games who had slipped so far under the thick ice he was practically dead himself. He was slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean, further and further away from everything he had ever loved. No one could save him now. He was already too far gone.

The rain kept falling, and Raleigh wished he could will his demons away. However, in two hours, he'd have to start facing them, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

"District One won't be hard," Buick told him on the train, trying to give him an optimistic smile. "You didn't know any of the tributes personally. For me, it was hardest when I had met the tributes prior to their deaths. It's harder to look their crying family member in the eyes if you did."

Buick was right. District One went as smoothly as predicted. He was dressed in a sparkling green suit the color of shimmering emeralds, and his long and unkempt hair was trimmed and slicked back with what felt like pounds of hair gel. They lead him off the train and through the thick crowd of people, most of whom were cheering and clapping respectively.

He gave his speech, talking about how Kaeleah and Eris were honorable competitors and that their home district should be proud of their placements and what they accomplished. At the end, everyone clapped respectfully for him and he was whisked off the stage, lead through the crowd of people once more.

Someone grabbed his hand suddenly. Raleigh whipped around, finding himself staring right into the eyes of an old and frail woman. He yanked his arm away and blinked.

"Thank you for killing Alaric," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible over the voices of the crowds.

Raleigh nodded his head but couldn't help raise a brow in confusion. "Sure."

"He made Eris look like such a monster. My grandson—he wasn't. He wasn't what the cameras pictured him to be. He was just a kid. My little Eris was just a kid."

She must be Eris's grandmother. He gave her a weak smile and a curt nod. "Alright. I'll remember that."

"Thanks," she replied, but then was gone, disappearing back into the crowd.

* * *

District Two was completely different.

Like the tall mountains they lived in, the people of Two were as cold and bitter as the frigid winter. When Raleigh exited the train, he was greeted with a dull silence, a million vengeful eyes staring right at him. Buick squeezed his hand and told him it would be alright, but the bad feeling in his stomach lingered.

He wove through the crowd, making his way up to the stage. A few people booed but were quickly silenced by the peacekeepers in snow white uniforms. Raleigh stopped beside the stage, looking to the families standing right in the front row.

Lena's brother was crying uncontrollably. Raleigh heard him but didn't dare look his way. Beside him, Lena's parents stood as still as statues, their eyes glossy and their heads hung low. They didn't meet his eyes when he looked at them. Next to them was Alaric's brother and father, their gaze as sharp as daggers. Alaric's brother looked like he wanted to murder him right then and there. Raleigh inhaled deeply and made his way up the steps. He turned and faced the silent crowd.

He opened his mouth to speak. However, before any words could come out, hundreds of people in the crowd raised their hands into the air. Raleigh squinted his eyes, trying to see what they were holding. Yet, by the time he realized they were flashlights, it was too late.

A million lights blinked on at once. Raleigh's eyes widened and for a moment he was blinded, the only thing he could see the bright white light. He screamed, stumbling backward.

Then everything turned to chaos.

"Death to Spark Boy!" They howled, their voices flooding his ears like a tidal wave. The crowd had roared to life, chanting and screaming and flicking the flashlights on and off. All Raleigh could see was white flashes, and all of a sudden, he felt like he was going to be sick.

His body shook and he felt like he was in the games again. He had the sensation that electricity was running through his veins, coursing through his body. He fell onto the stone floor of the stage, his limbs jolting in all directions. The lights continued to flash and Raleigh screamed louder.

Then, two strong hands yanked him to his feet and lead him toward the stairs of the stage. A few gunshots rang out and there were more screams, the people scattering everywhere. Raleigh could only see white sparks flying everywhere. _He was in the games again. He was going to die. This was the end._

Someone ran toward him, knocking him to the ground again. He screamed and began to kick and thrash like a wild animal, hissing and spitting everywhere. He was in defense mode now. HIs life was on the line; he needed to save himself. Although the person who knocked him to the ground was merely a scared kid running for her life, he didn't care. He only cared about his own survival. As long as he was safe, the kid could die for all he cared.

This is what the Hunger Games had made him become: a monster.

* * *

He was scared to leave the safety train after the mess that was District Two.

"It'll be okay Raleigh," his mentor consoled, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "The Capitol sent in extra peacekeepers. They'll be with you at all times. No one will touch you, alright?"

Raleigh didn't respond, staring out the window blankly at the cityscape that was District Three.

"Come on Raleigh. The sooner we get off the train the sooner it will all be over."

"I want it to be over now," Raleigh murmured softly. "I want to die. Then it'll all be over."

"Oh, come on," Buick replied, giving him a weak smile. "You don't really mean that, right?"

"I do. I hate being a victor. I hate talking to all these people who wish I was dead and pretending like everything is alright when it isn't. They want me dead. I want me dead. I wish I was dead."

"No, you don't Raleigh," Buick responded harshly, his tone of voice changing drastically. "Being alive and hurting is better than being dead and feeling nothing at all."

Raleigh lifted his head, looking at his mentor with angry and confused eyes. "If I was dead I'd be at peace. All I feel now is guilt."

"Then get over yourself," Buick hissed back. "Stop feeling guilty and start realizing that some things are out of your control. Yes, you are stupid, but you also couldn't control what happened in Two or what happened to your mother. Don't feel bad for things you didn't do."

"But I could have saved her. If only—"

"You can't save everyone," his mentor cut him off. "I learned that the hard way, and apparently, you will too."

And then he opened the train door, and Raleigh had no choice but to step out into the light.

* * *

He couldn't get Sereina's aunt's words out of his head.

"You turned my niece into a monster," she hissed at him after he was done giving his speech yesterday. "You ruined her. Compared to her, you are the tiny one."

He should have said something. He should have told her that it was Sereina's choice to leave Celeste for dead. But he didn't. He just stared at her with wide blank eyes, knowing that what she said had truth to it.

"Maybe I am."

* * *

It rained the day he went to District Five.

A low mist hung around the stage, a fog rising slowly in the distance. Grey clouds surrounded the dull grey square, reflecting his mood. It was days like these that made him want to curl up in a ball and cry. Well, every day was like that now, but rainy days made him feel drearier than others.

Through the mist and the fog, the bright cityscape of five flickered around him. Tall grey buildings stood with warm yellow lights in the windows, and skinny streetlamps lined the square. It wasn't cold but looking at them made him shiver. It reminded him of things he didn't want to remember and of things he would do anything to forget. _The Games. District Two. His mother._

The people stood huddled in the rain, waiting in anticipation. The mood here was different from what it had been in Districts Three and Four. There the people had stood with their heads hung low and their eyes locked on their feet, shivering as peacekeepers walked by. But here, despite the weather, it felt almost … hopeful.

He stepped onto the stage, and an excited buzz ran through the crowd. He seemed to not be the only one who noticed it, for the numerous peacekeepers patrolling the streets all seemed to raise their heads and narrow their eyes, looking for signs of rebellion among the people. There was nothing, at least visibly.

Grabbing the microphone, he took a silent step forward. The crowd seemed to sway as he moved, watching him attentively. He twisted his head around to find Buick standing behind him, giving him an encouraging smile. He didn't smile back.

"Hello District Five," He announced in a monotoned voice, and to his surprise, his words were met with a thunderous response. The crowd cheered and hollered his name. Some began to scream "Spark Boy!" and for a minute he saw the sparks again, vibrant and sizzling against the steady rain. His eyes widened and he let go of the microphone.

A gunshot snapped him back into reality. In the middle of the square, a young boy dressed in grey stiffened before collapsing to the ground, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. In the middle of his chest is a red circle. Raleigh met his glossy gaze but it was too late; he was already gone. In the boy's hand was a wire, the top of it sparking like a firework. Then like the dead boy, it fizzled out, another casualty of the war he never wanted to fight.

* * *

He had been dreading District Seven since the victory tour had begun. If District Two and Five were bad, then District Seven was going to be hell.

"I'm not going out there," Raleigh refused, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me."

"You have to," Buick replied sternly. "You don't have a choice. You are a victor, and this is your job now. The people have a choice though. If they want to rebel, then they can. It's their fault if they die, not yours. I told you to stop blaming stupid things other people do on yourself."

"Well, this is the wrong District for that!" Raleigh yelled. "Both Celeste and Tristan's deaths were my fault, and they're dead too! They're all dead!"

His mentor grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him around so he was square to him. He looked him dead in the eyes. " _It's. Not. Your. Fault._ " He hissed through gritted teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"A million, because when I look Celeste's crying sister in the eyes, do you think I'm going to believe that?" He spat back angrily. "Do you think she's going to believe that?"

"You're strong. You'll get through it."

"But what if I can't?" The sixteen-year-old boy asked, his eyes suddenly going wide like a child's half his age.

"You will."

"But what if I can't?"

"Then you've lost," his mentor replied, yanking him to his feet and wiping the tears from his eyes. "Once you've given up, you're dead; you're done for. But you will get through it because you're a victor." He gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder before pushing him out the door. "We don't lose. We win."

* * *

The trees of Seven towered above him like giants, their leaves undulating in the midsummer breeze. He looked out at the crowd of people with glazed and puffy eyes that were swollen from crying. He wouldn't cry here though. Not in front of this many people. He was stronger than that. He was a victor. He didn't lose.

"Hello, District Seven!" He announced with fake enthusiasm.

No one clapped, silence the only response he received. He gulped, holding his head high and using whatever energy was left in him to continue.

"I will be honest with you all," Raleigh began, shedding his false enthusiasm like a snake shed his old skin. "I was dreading coming to Seven, for reasons you can probably guess. Tristan and Celeste were my allies in the games, and I'm sure you'd rather see them standing here than me. Me, who watched silently as Tristan was shot to death and who left Celeste to dangle by one foot as Alaric sliced her to pieces. Me, who took a girl against her will and made my own ally turn on me because she was afraid of what I'd become. Me, the boy who was too afraid to trust someone who had nothing left to give but trust."

I'm supposed to say I'm sorry, and that I'd do anything to make them forgive me, but you know what? I'm done saying sorry. I'm done pretending like they were my friends when really we all knew only one of us was going to make it out of there alive if even that. A friend isn't someone who knows at the end of the day that if they want to survive, they'll have to kill the person that they are supposed to trust with their lives. I've been blaming myself for months and telling myself that if only I had saved Tristan if only I had gone back for Celeste—then maybe they'd be here instead of me."

But the Hunger Games are a selfish game. I thought I wanted that; I thought I wanted to have had the courage to save Celeste and Tristan. But inside, no matter how good of a person I think I am, in the arena I always wanted it to be me who was the last one standing; me who heard my name be called at the end of it all, and me who got to wear the crown after it was all done. I never wanted it to be Celeste or Tristan. I wanted it to be me. And if that makes me a horrible person, then maybe I am. Maybe I am a monster. But at least I'm honest."

He still couldn't look Celeste's crying sister in the eye after he was done, but at least he could live with himself now and accept what he had done. He was a victor, and he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't going to lose.

* * *

"I'm proud of you Raleigh," his mentor said once they were back on the train. "I honestly thought you were going to cry."

He managed to laugh. "Me too."

"Plus, the Capitol's off your tail now. That speech was broadcast in all the districts. They all think you're a monster now, and they no longer have sympathy for you. Who would have thought?"

Raleigh shrugged. "It really turned them all over?"

"Well, not _all_ of them."

* * *

Apparently, there were still a few in District Eight.

He stood on the wings of the stage, watching as the occasional Spark Boy was hollered into the air in a plea for attention before the owner of the voice was rounded up by the peacekeepers and dragged away, kicking and screaming in reply. Most of the time, their voices died down within minutes, the crowd returning to its normal sad silence. Raleigh felt bad but continued to tell himself it wasn't his fault. It was their choices, and if they wanted, they could speak out. It was all up to them.

One girl caught his eye though. She ran to the front of the crowd, pushing and shoving her way to the stage. However, instead of yelling about Spark Boy, she was screaming something else.

"You will not silence me! My sister was silenced by you, but I will never stop until I avenge her death! I will speak out until I die, and even then, I won't stop until my final breath!"

Raleigh thought someone was going to shoot her right there and let her live out her wish. However, when they caught her they just dragged her away like the rest. She didn't kick and scream though. She just kept yelling.

"Grace is dead, but you will never kill my love for her! Her spirit will live on, and someday, the Capitol is going to be silenced too! Just you wait! There are more of us then you know! There are hundreds! Thousands! Millions! We're going to take you down, every last one of you!"

Then her voice disappeared into the distance, growing fainter and fainter until it was silent. The next year, he swore he saw a girl who looked exactly like her in his room at the Capitol, a silver plate in hand and a tongue missing from her mouth. However, it could have just been his mind playing tricks on him. It did a lot these days.

* * *

The victory tour ended on a quiet note. There were no outbursts in any other districts, and Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve were all as bleak and dreary as the last. All the families looked sad but not too sad, and he had known none of their children but Arilli, and even her he had only met for a minute or so before Alaric slit her throat.

 _It's not your fault,_ he repeated in his head every day. _It's not your fault._

After a while, he began to believe himself again.

He returned back to his quiet home in Six after the tour ended, a modest celebration being held in his name the day he got back. The entire district was there and he spoke, then there was a party after with a handful of Buick's friends and a few of his father's. Arial was there too, and he managed to say hello. For now, it was all he could say. But it was something. It was a step, even if it was a baby one.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

He talked to his father again, unlocking the once bolted shut door to his room. Sometimes he visited Buick during the week and they sat on his couch and watched soap operas that are meant for drama craving citizens of the Capitol, but they still found them entertaining nonetheless. Often, they were way over the top, which made him break into a fit of laughter, Buick always not far behind.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

When the hot summer heat cooled down a bit he began to ride his bike again, weaving through the narrow streets of Six in silence. He wasn't ready to invite Arial yet, but riding made his feel like a kid again, almost normal despite his circumstances. Well, as normal as a victor's life could be. He rode into town and to the trainyard, then out to the outskirts where he used to live before the Games. His house stood as empty and still as a statue, the lights always off. He wondered who would move there, if anyone ever would.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

The summer turned into a brisk autumn, the leaves changing colors with the turn of the season. Their green hue faded to yellow, before blazing out in a fury of vivid oranges and reds. The weather changed too. As temperatures dropped his bike rides grew more frequent, and just before the first snowfall came, he changed it to include the graveyard. It was ironically right next to the victor's village.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

He hadn't visited the graveyard since his mother died. Before the games, he and Arial used to dare each other to sneak in after dusk, jumping the fence and seeing how long the other could stand on the graves of the dead without chickening out and running back. That was so long ago.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

Brown leaves crunched under his thick boots, cracking against the frozen earth. A bitter wind blew through his hair, ruffling it. His ears were red from the frigid cold. He walked through the gates and inhaled deeply. The graveyard smelled like pine. It smelled like Celeste when he had first met her almost a whole year ago from that day, of freshly chopped wood and thin green needles.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

He bent down, picking up a purple wildflower growing on the edge of the graveyard, just under the rotting wooden fence. It was miraculous it had survived for so long, especially in the unusually cold fall they had that year. However, it still lived, as durable and strong as him.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

He walked over to his mother's grave on the north side of the cemetery. Bending down, he placed the flowers right below the engraved carving of her name. The wind blew again, making the tips of his ears redder.

 _It's not your fault. It's not your fault._

Raleigh raised his head, looking around the empty graveyard. In another month, the patch of land would most likely have two more stones, two more dead children laying feet under the frozen earth. Their families would fear this place like he did too, scared to face the truth that had taken him so long to accept.

 _It's not your fault._

He couldn't save Tristan. He was gone the minute he was reaped for the games, his odds of winning already zero by just his age alone.

 _It's not your fault._

He couldn't save Tesserae. She was gone the moment she decided to take extra tesserae so that some starving kid could go to bed with a full stomach.

 _It's not your fault._

He couldn't save Celeste. She was gone the second she first doubted herself, the two words _what if_ her death kiss.

 _It's not your fault._

He couldn't save Arilli. She was gone the instant she gave up, knowing that her goal of killing Lux had been completed.

 _It's not your fault._

And last of all, he couldn't save his mother. She was gone the minute he had made the decision that he wanted to win, his rock the final blow that did both her and Alaric in.

 _It's not your fault._

But the others weren't gone yet. He could still save them.

Or, he had to at least try.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Oh my goodness! We're done! I can barely believe it, honestly. 45 chapters, 10 months, almost 200,000 words, and 300+ reviews. Wow._**

 ** _First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who submitted, read, reviewed, followed, favorited, and supported this story. I couldn't have done it without each one of you. At the beginning of this project, I didn't think I would finish, and many of you probably thought the same thing. But I did! I'm so proud of myself, and this gives confidence that I can finish lots of things in life, whether they be about writing or other things._**

 ** _A special thank you to Platrium, who answered all my questions, gave me awesome advice, and provided me with tons of moral support. You're the best!_**

 ** _I hope you enjoyed this story, and you are satisfied with the final result and victor. I certainly am. Raleigh's a cool dude and I'm excited to use him in future stories. There may be mentions of other characters there too (I'm looking at you Alaric and Grace!) so be ready for that. Also, Blackened is still accepting submissions! I have sooo many amazing ones already, and I've already got submissions from 25+ unique authors. You guys are super!_**

 ** _And now I can mark this story complete!_**

 ** _Signing off for the final time,_**

 ** _paper :)_**


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